Star Crossed Lovers
by Crunch
Summary: Good men. Bad men. Pretty girls. Ruined girls. Hate. Revenge. Broken hearts. Broken bones. Guns. God. Love. Death. NEWSIES.
1. Act 1

Star Crossed Lovers - by Crunch  
  
Hey all! Disclaimer- is this really nessesary? We all know I don't own the newsies, do you have to rub it in?  
  
You've all heard THE story, but I'm bettin' not like this. You know how this goes- review it's good, flame if it sucks. *Crunch crosses her fingers*  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ACT I  
  
"Read all about it, familly killed in buggy crash!"  
  
The sun that beamed down through a crystal clear, mid-winter sky warmed Swivel's body and spirit as he strolled through Newsie Square, rough housing with his selling partner Manca along the way. The two Brooklyn newsboys laughed and chatted merrily, pausing occasionaly only to shove a pape in the face of an unsuspecting passerby with a dime to spare. Baron, a stooped and menacing figure dragging on his ever-presant cigarette, lagged behind under the burden of his paper load.  
  
"Mornin' miss!" Swivel tipped his cap to a passing lady, flashing her a rougish smile. He felt like leaping, dancing, drinking- everything there was to do on a fine morning like this, he wanted to do it. His euphoria was too great to be contained; after all, this was the life!  
  
"Hey, Swiv," Manca brushed a hand through the untamed mop of dirty blonde locks spilling from beneath a checkered cap, his sapphire eyes sparkling with pride. "Swiv, I ever tell ya how me 'an Baron beat down one a' dem Manhatten punks d'other day?" Rivalries between the two burroughs had been steadily mounting in the past few months since that first infamous brawl. Not a soul could remember who'd thrown the first punch; just that Spot Conlon had thirsted for more power then the great Jack Kelley was willing to give. Bonds formed during the strike had been severed; friendships torn apart at the seams. It was a dangerous time to be a newsie on either side of the line.  
  
"Only one? Aww, dat aint nothin', Manca. Me an' da boys took out two a' dose Manhatten chumps last week, easy as pie."  
  
"Tell me about it. Da only thing easier den Manhatten newsies is da Manhatten goils." The friends shared a laugh at their enemies expense. "Ey, speaken of da devil, aint those a couple a' Kelley's punks?"  
  
From across the square, Manca gestured towards the three approaching newsies. They were indeed Manhattenites. "Just lemme handle this, boys." Baron stepped forwards, his pulse racing at the prospect of a good fight. "Ey, if it aint da one eyed wonder an' is goilfriend! Is dat you I sees, Skittery? Shouldn't you be off holdin' your Boss's hand or somethin'?" Eyes narrowed and fists clenched across the board.  
  
"Easy, boys." Skittery whistled through gritted teeth. It seemed like he was forever keeping the peace in this town, to know avail.  
  
Swivel stepped forward, the jocular smile never leaving his lips as he politely relieved Mush of his pape stack. "Any good headlines taday, chumps?" Hate buzzed through the air like electricity, poised to explode. Skittery could feel the trainwreck coming from a mile away.  
  
"Carefull, fella's." The boy's coffee colored eyes, wide with apprehention, pleaded for calm. "Let's not do anything we'se gonna regret- "  
  
Swivel snickered and dropped Mush's stolen papers, grinding them into the dirt beneath his water stained loafers. "Oh I aint gonna regret dis in da slightest, t'anks." With a snarl Mush lunged.  
  
"'Ey - BUMMERS!" Skittery hand tremored slightly as he reached inside his frayed, dust streaked pink shirt and withdrew the gun. A cold, blood- chilling black lump of metal; it glittered dangerously in the sunlight as Skittery's index finger rested nervously against the trigger. "I said, cheese it! Whatsa matta wid youse? You all wanna get thrown in da refuge? Now let's all BACK OFF!"  
  
"MANHATTEN!" In the blink of an eye, Skittery found himself looking down the barrel of another pistol, this one clutched in Baron's steady hand and aimed at his head. In the deadly silence that followed, settling over the streets like a blanket of tension, you could have heard the drop of a pin. Skittery swollowed the nervous lump in his throat; this was going too far too fast. "You should throw down, Manhatten. Clear out before me n' me boys really get angry."  
  
He held his ground. "Baron, I don't wanna fight, not wid you or anyone. We'se had enough a' fighting for a lifetime. I'se just tryin' ta keep the peace.."  
  
"Peace?" Baron's grin, the trademark smirk plastered to his face when ever the smell of violence was in the air, twisted into a sneer. Skittery looked on with discust as a wad of saliva flew from the bully's mouth, dropping distainfully between his own feet. "Screw peace. All dat truce stuff you'se always preachin'- dat's for jerks. Jerks like you, Skittery. You, all your Manhatten street rats, an' Jack Kelley." Skittery hit the dust just in time to miss the bullet slicing through the air above his head. Coughing up grit right and left, he wiped the trickle of blood from his lip and threw himself into a roll, narrowly missing a fresh volley of flying shots. "Damn it!" the newsie swore under his breath before drawing his own weapon.  
  
"Skittery, move!" Blink started towards his friend, only to be jerked into the tangle of limbs that was Mush and Swivel. Crowds parted for the brawlers as they made there way across the square, battle cries mingling with the panic-stricken screams of women and children. Fists flew; bullets ricoched off the sunwarmed brick walls; everywhere there was chaos.  
  
"You shoulda never messed wid us, Baron!"  
  
"All kill ya for dat, you CHUMP!" Mush dropped down behind the bronzed statue dead center of Newsie Square, gasping for breath. Hastily, he fumbled for the pistol still tucked inside his own wasteband, ready to leap out and be rid of that tyrant Baron and his dumb ass friends once and for all.  
  
At that moment something very strange occurred; so strange you might be tempted to call it fate. The imfamous leader of Manhatten, the one and only Jack Kelley, happened onto the scene of the brawl just as Brooklyn Boss Spot Conlon himself came running into the square, drawn by the echo of gunshots.  
  
"Let me at him! I'll soak the BUM!" the 16 year old fighter strained against his girlfriend's arms, murder blazing in his cobalt-grey eyes.  
  
"Oh no ya don't, Spot." Across from his mortal enemy, Jack found himself similarly hampered.  
  
"Jack Kelley, don't you DARE move! I told you, it's this Gawd Damn rivalry or me!"  
  
But Jack never had to choose, and Mush never had to fire, because suddenly a whistle peirced the air.  
  
"Baron! Baron it's da bulls!"  
  
"Comeon, guys, scram!"  
  
As the Newsie's took off in a flurry of dust and panic, they heard the cries of the police chief at their backs:  
  
"LISTEN UP STREETRATS! I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, AND IF I CATCH ANY OF YOU BOY'S MAKING TROUBLE, I DON'T CARE IF YOUR FROM BROOKLYN OR MANHATTEN OR MY OWN BACKYARD, I'T'S STRAIT TO THE REFUGE FOR YOU!"  
  
Sadly, the Chief turned his back to the now vacant clearing, mopping the sweat from his worry-lined forehead with one pristine sleeve. "I tell you, Daniels." He sighed as his deputy bent to retreive an abandoned revolver, glaring up from the dust. "This has gone too far. Every week I'm breaking up another public brawl, between children! CHILDREN, for God's sake! I can't let this go on."  
  
"What do we do, Chief?"  
  
The man shrugged and scanned the horizon, where the blood-red sun melted into another winter night. "We put a stop to this war, once and for all. Any disturbance, and the perpetrators go strait to the pen. Let Snyder and his tactics deal with them."  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Jack Kelley gazed sullenly towards the western horizon, oblivious to the touch of his girl, Blackee, as well as the last fading rays of sunlight stretched across a picture perfect sky. Baron has come into HIS territory today, HIS home, and pulled a gun on HIS boys. It was unbeleivable; inexcusable.  
  
"Jack, I swears, Baron aint nevah gonna back down. We wasn't hurtin' noone, an' I had da situation under control, till dat Son of a Bitch pulled out his pistol! It was all I could do not ta get me head blown off." Anxiously, he passed Jack his near stub of a cigarette, and breathed a sigh of releif as his leader took the peace offering.  
  
"It aint your fault, Skitt. Baron, he's Spot's second hand guy, so he's doin' what he's told. Dey both got it comin'. . ."  
  
"Skittery, 'ave youse seen Racetrack around?" Blackee twisted a fat strand of chocolatey hair around her finger, a nervous habit, as she changed the subject.  
  
"Yeah, matter a fact I has." Skittery grabbed the bait, thankful for any distraction. "I saw 'im as I was passing by Sheapshead on me route today. Ya know, I was gonna talk ta him, but 'e seemed real glum, so I left da guy alone."  
  
"Race aint been at da top a' his game for a while now." Jack tugged at the trademark red bandanna fixed aroung his neck, cutting off his breath just now. "What am I supposed ta do about it? 'E's me second in command, after all, an' he's nevah around when deres a fight! 'E just mopes all day an' gambles all night. I dunno what's wrong wid him."  
  
Skittery peered over Jack's shoulder towards the lodging house, where the masses of newsies, pockets emptied and spirits hightened by another rousing evening at Tibby's, stumbled into their quarters. Amoung them was Racetrack. Even from this distance he could see the darkened shadows ringing his friend's wary eyes.  
  
"I dunno either Jack, but I'll find out for youse by da end of da night. Come hell or high watah."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Oh man, I should stop starting new stories, but I just keep spittin' them out like. . .well, spit. So, didja figure out who's who yet? Didja? Didja?  
  
You know how it works, if you want more, review review REVIEW! If it sucks, well, avert your eyes and pretend you don't know me.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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	2. Act 2

Star Crossed Lovers - by Crunch  
  
Hey all! Disclaimer- is this really nessesary? We all know I don't own the newsies, do you have to rub it in?  
  
You've all heard THE story, but I'm bettin' not like this. You know how this goes- review it's good, flame if it sucks. *Crunch crosses her fingers*  
  
Oh yes, thanx a bunch to Shortie, Moods, Anna Belle, and morning dew! You guys rock!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Spot studied the young man crouched infront of him, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles glowed white. From the cabby hat perched jauntily on an impeccibly groomed head of midnight black hair, to the deep set emerald eyes wide with a trademark mixture of confidence and anticipation, to the strong features, broad, commanding shoulders, and sturdy figure cloaked in angelic white, the boy looked every inch the gentlemen. He was indeed a good friend, and a fine newsie, but was he worthy of Ruby?  
  
"She's- She's like me sistah, ya know? I just always wanted bettah fah her den some guy like me. She deserves bettah."  
  
"I know she do, Spot. Ruby- she's da most special goil I evah met. She deserves da moon, and da stars. . ."  
  
"Don't push it, Frenchy." Spot sighed and gazed out the window of the lodging house, heart filled with pride at the view of the city line. This was all his, as far as the eye could see. Brooklyn was HIS kingdom. And he loved it. "I just don't know, bruddah. She's only 15."  
  
"An' how old was you when you first fell in love, Spot?" The newsie chuckled.  
  
"I been fallin' in love all me life." Relenting, he turned to face his friend at last. "What I wanna know is, will you treat her good? Will you take care a' her?"  
  
Frenchy licked his lips excitedly, tasting victory within his grasps. "I will Spot. All me life."  
  
The Brooklyn leader nodded, a smile creeping over his lips. "Tell ya what, Frenchy. Every year, all me newsies get tagether at da Red Hook, ta bring in da new year wid a bang, ya know?  
  
"Yeah, Spot, I hoid of it."  
  
"So, you come, get ta know me girl Ruby. If she likes you. . den you have me blessing." Frenchy laughed out loud, pleasure shining in his eyes. In one suave movement he unfolded himself to Spot's height, flushed with the prospect of the oncoming chase.  
  
"You won't regret it, Spot. I swear it."  
  
"You break 'er heart, I'll break ya head." Spot chuckled, with something not entirely humorous obvious in the quiet tone of his voice.  
  
"I know. An' it won't happen. You won't regret dis."  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Racetrack stood on the steps of the lodging house, cheek pressed against the sunwarmed bricks not yet cooled by the oncoming night. 'Nothing spoils a good sunset like unrequited love.' He though wryly. Besides him Skittery sighed.  
  
"Race, it's not da end of da world, ya know. So you like a goil."  
  
"I don't LIKE a goil, Skitts." He scoffed and wiped a hand across his tired eyes. "I love a goil."  
  
"Do you even know her name?"  
  
"Sure I do, da problem is she don't know mine." He sank down onto the wooden staircase, wincing as it groaned and sagged under his minimal weight. One of these days these stairs would collapse, and some poor, unsuspecting sap would have hell to pay. "You should see her, Skitt. She's gorgeous, I mean REALLY well endowed. All da right coives in ALL da right places. An' her face. . ."  
  
"She sounds like every udder goil in Manhatten, Pal."  
  
"But she aint. Skitts, she's special; even her name is special." The boy sighed and spoke her name to the heavens, letting the sacred word roll sweetly off his toungue. "Bristols."  
  
Skittery snorted through an attempt at sympathy. "Race, ya know what bristols means, don't ya?" Thouroughly insulted, the love sick newsie inched away from his friend.  
  
"Yeah, I know what it means alright, but that aint da point." Skittery sobered up immediately. After all, a joke was one thing, but friendship was something he took very seriously, and to laugh at a friend in pain was treason in the highest degree.  
  
"Look, I didn't mean nothin' by it, Race. Ok, so you like dis goil Bristols, but ya can't have 'er cos she's a stuck up . ."  
  
"Skitts!"  
  
"Ok, ok. Well I got just da thing you need, Brudda," Race glanced up, curiosity piqued by the smile on his friends face; a dazzling display of white glowing in the dusk. With a mischievous chuckle, the boy tugged a dilapidated leaflet from his pocket, clearing his throat as he struggled to read the message aloud. "To all da newsies a' Brooklyn, your presence is expected at da Red Hook, tamorrow night when all sellin' is done, ta celebrate da new year. Courtesy a' your leader, da one an' only Spot Conlon. No Manhattenites aloud!"  
  
"Skittery, dat last part means we aint on da guest list."  
  
"I know, Race me boy. But since you seem so hung up on dis goil, whatser name? Bristols? I figuah a big party like dis, imminent risk of death, plenty a' gorgeous women? Might do ya good." Race sighed and squinted into the last vanishing flames of the day.  
  
"I appreciate it, but it aint gonna do any good. It won't change me mind. I'm just doomed."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Short, I know, but I write what the voices in my head tell me to, ya know? So review review REVIEW! No review-y, no update-y, kapeesh?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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	3. Act 3

Star Crossed Lovers - by Crunch  
  
Hey all! Disclaimer- is this really nessesary? We all know I don't own the newsies, do you have to rub it in?  
  
You've all heard THE story, but I'm bettin' not like this. You know how this goes- review it's good, flame if it sucks. *Crunch crosses her fingers*  
  
*For Shortie* - OMG you saw spottie's territory? Oh, what I wouldn't give! I did that too the other day, watching something about Cristina Aguilara performing on the Brooklyn Bridge, and I was waiting for Spot and Jack and Bones to show and go AHH! Ok, rambling. Oh yeah, and Bristols. . .is cockney slang for hoo hahs. Boobies. *hides face in mischevious shame*!!  
  
CrAzyLyN- thankyou twice!! Oh good, I'm glad im doin' alright, I was so afraid all shakespear fans were gonna flame me with "what do you think you're doing, you pretentious nit wit?" and yes, you're right on about all the characters. Keep reading!  
  
Jlove- Yay! You read! You liked! I agree about jack, he is a cutie - patootie alright!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Nanny! NAN!"  
  
"I hoid ya, Lady, I aint deaf." Nanny, a plump, frazzled young girl rushed to her friend's side, straitening the trademark apron she wore tied loosly around her barrel-like frame. Lady stood towering over her stout side kick, smoothing down her silken russet curls as she regained her composure.  
  
"Nan, I got a favor ta ask youse. Ya know Ruby, o'course?"  
  
"Sure!" the portly girl's eyes gleamed as she warmed to one of her favorite subjects. "Known her since she were small, just a little slip of a thing dat come stumblin' in here one night out a' da rain. Why, If I hadn't taken 'er in an' looked after 'er meself, Gawd knows what would've happened ta her. ."  
  
"I know da story, you chump." Lady rolled her eyes and inspected her nails, uncommonly flawless for those of a newsie. Infact, Lady herself appeared to be uncommonly flawless for a newsie. "See, da t'ing is, you know how close Spot and 'er is, like brudder an' sistah."  
  
"Sure, everyone knows."  
  
"Well, since I'm Spot's goilfriend," It was hard to miss the way Lady's chest puffed slightly and her chin perked up at this proclamation. What girl wouldn't? "he asked me ta do 'im a favor. Know where she is?"  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Ruby McKeon lay on her bunk in the Brooklyn Lodging House, eyes drilling into the ceiling that loomed inches from her face, as if she were to look hard enough, the stars would be visible through that dense layer of bricks and plaster blotting out the sky. What she wouldn't give to be someplace, anyplace but here at this very moment. With anyone.  
  
"Ruby! Hey Ruby!" Her eyes snapped open as a head popped up over the edge of the matress. Lady's face split into a nervous grin at the sight of her. "There you is, Ruby. Come on down, I gots ta talk to youse." Stifling a groan, Ruby's feet found the icy wooden floorboards, as she told herself that she hadn't really been comfortable anyways. Obediently, the child plopped down next to the two older girls. "Thatsa goil. Uh, you can go now, Nan."  
  
Nanny turned to leave, slightly dismayed at the prospect of missing valuable gossip. "On second thought. ."  
  
The girl heaved her bulk around with a smile. Lady sighed, uncomfortably twining a fallen strand of hair around one gracefull finger. "On second thought, stay. Now listen, Ruby- you aint a little goil anymore."  
  
"I know, Lady."  
  
"After all, you're. . uhh, how old is she, Nan?" The girl's broad face flushed with nostalgia.  
  
"Ahh, 16. She'll be 16 in a week, dat is. I remembah when you was just 9 yeahs, can you believe it? You come stumblin' in from da rain. ."  
  
"Alright, alright, can it, Nanny." Lady rolled her coppery eyes to the heavens and turned back to the young girl seated anxiously besides her, shivering through a thin cotton nighty. "What I mean is, you're growin' up ta be a pretty enough goil. . ."  
  
"Ahh!" Nan's voice cut into her speech once again. "But you was always da prettiest goil I evah took care of. I said to meself, I said one day dat goil's gonna find her self a good man. ."  
  
"ALRIGHT! FOR GAWD'S SAKE, NAN!" Lady took a moment to repaint the sugary smile on her lips before continuing. "So tell me, Ruby. What do ya think about. . Ya know. Men."  
  
Ruby's eyes, a deep, velvety brown to rival Lady's, grew to the size of dinner plates. "Well, I aint thought much about 'em, ta tell da truth."  
  
Lady, grinned, in her best impression of motherly affection. "Well, start thinkin'. Goils your age 'ave been inta men for years, if ya know what I mean. And now's as good a time as evah for youse, cos I 'ave it on good authority dat Frenchy is askin' about youse!"  
  
"Frenchy?"  
  
Nan beamed down on her young charge. "Ahh, Frenchy. Aint 'e a looker?"  
  
"He's gorgeous alright, an' PLENTY well endowed, if ya know what I means. . ." By the blush in Ruby's young cheeks, Lady guessed that she did. "Anyways, we's all going ovah ta da Red Hook tanight, for da New Years party. An' Frenchy will be dere, so. . It wouldn't kill ya to look, would it?"  
  
Ruby breathed a sigh of resignation, feeling the shreiks of the two older girls swimming in her head, blotting out any thoughts of rebellion. After all, what was the harm in looking? "I, I guess I could look, If ya think that'll make me love da guy. Sure, I'll look. If you wants me to."  
  
Just then, a stream of girls burst into the deserted bunkroom as Lady leaped to her feet, gathering her dignity above the noisy crowd.  
  
"Lady, Nan, we's goin' over to da Hook now! Comeon, it's getting late!" In a flurry of laughter and pounding feet, the newsgirls rushed off. As she left, Nanny gave Ruby's small hands one last squeeze.  
  
"Go on den, goil. Your man's waitin'!" And then she was gone, leaving Ruby dumbfounded in the sudden silence of the dormatory. It looked like fate was finally smiling down on her.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Another shorty, but we get to the good stuff next episode, I promise!! That is IF and ONLY IF you REVIEW!! Otherwise I'll assume I suck. And noone likes to suck, do they? Hmmm?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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	4. Act 4

Star Crossed Lovers - by Crunch  
  
*To shortie* - HOO YAH! My own Racetrack muse? Omg, I truly am speechless. I've never gotten a better present, thanx so much! *wipes away tear*. Og gosh, I know, I just realized halfway through chapter 1 what I'd gotten myself into with that whole romeo gig, I want to cry just thinking of the task ahead!! Oh gosh, I'm so happy you like the story! *looks around for someone to hug, when noone can be found, hugs herself* oh, I guess I should go write now, but keep on reading, you make checking my reviews so fun!  
  
*To Misprint*- three times! Three! THANKSOMUCH!!! Racetrack's essence? Really? You think so? *does happy touchdown/review dance* Yay! Here ya go, keep reading!! And thanxabunch!! Oh yes, and keep UPDATING!!!  
  
*To Derby* - Yay! Thanks soooo much to you AND your imaginary friend! You guys rock!! Wait does that mean I only get one thumb up each? Ah well, I'll try not to overthink that, keep reading and reviewing!  
  
*To Morning Dew* - wait just ONE more chapter. . .wait for it. . .wait. . I know I'm such meshuganah. (yiddish for mitzbuchah) Thanks so much for r&r, keep on doin it!!  
  
*CrAzyLyN* - oh dear, I hope by the time you read this chapter you're ungrounded! I do hate it when my reviewers suffer. Yes, here ya go, I'm so glad you like it so far! *Starts to do happy dance, then realizes it's getting VERY old* Any ways stick with it, I promise we're getting to the good parts, but you knew that!!!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Race brushed aside the fallen leaves, tracing a path through the splatters of flaming orange and red with one shoe. He was surprised to find any kind of foliage left on the streets; the trees had been stripped bare for ages now.  
  
"Racetrack me boy!" with a start, he looked up to see Skittery and Kid Blink shuffling towards him, breaths hovering in the chilly air infront of their faces like a pair of jubilant chain smokers. He beamed as Blink reached out and smacked his cheek. "Where ya been all me life, kiddo?"  
  
"'Ey, Blink. Skitts." Skittery flashed his friend a welcoming grin.  
  
"Bruddah, get ready ta forget all about dat Bristols goil. Tonight is gonna be great, you'll see." Race shook his head, cringing as the sour stench of whisky on Blink's breath blasted him square in the face.  
  
"What you two bummers seem ta be forgetting is dat dis is Spot's party. It'll be crawlin' wid Brooklynites. We can't just pop in like daisies for a Sunday picnic."  
  
"Race, you're breakin' me heart. Don't you t'ink I thought of dat?" Blink drove a fist into the torn pocket of his ragged tweed overcoat, mischief twinkling from his one good eye. "Ta da!"  
  
"Oh, no. NO." Race studied the masks clutched triumphantly in his friend's hand. They glimmered in the moonlight; three identical concoctions of newspapers and string. "Forget it, Blink. I aint wearin' no mask. And anyway, Baron might not be da brightest pape in da stack, but even he aint dumb enough ta fall for dese." Slightly insulted, but still a bit too drunk to be discouraged, Blinks laughed it off.  
  
"Dey'll do just fine. What's wid youse, anyway? I thought you was lookin forward ta dis party!"  
  
"I said I would go, I nevah said I would like it. An' I aint dancin' neither!"  
  
"What? You aint dancin'?" Blinks clutched at his heart, jaw dropped in mock dismay. "But Race, you gotta! Just let yaself soar, lover boy!"  
  
"I'd sink."  
  
The newsie shook his head, throwing strands of dirty blonde hair every which way. "Listen, Brudda, you gotta loosen up. If love has you on your back, why, den you jus' push love on it's back! I happen ta know a number of goils who'd gladly fill dat position . . ."  
  
"Kid!" Skittery sighed and threw a strong arm around his two pals. "Come on, bums, da party awaits!"  
  
With a grand gesture, Blinks motioned for his friends to proceed. The three meandered off into the night, talking above the crunch of the leaves underfoot.  
  
"I mean it, fellas." The love sick newsie dropped his voice, glad for the shoddy mask that hid his blush. "I got a bad feelin' about dis. See, I had dis dream. ."  
  
"Yeah? I 'ad a dream too."  
  
"You did?" Race raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Yup. I had a dream dat dreams aint woith a Brooklynite. So what, you got a visit from da great hallucination fairy, an' now you're ready ta give up?"  
  
Skittery snorted out a billowing cloud of frost. "Da hallucination fairy, Blink?"  
  
"Yeah! Aint you nevah hoid of her?" With a click of his heels, the innebriated newsie swirled off into the darkness, mounting a nearby wooden bench in one suave leap. "Yup, Race, it were da hallucination fairy alright! See, she's dis tiny little women dat flies around in people's bedrooms at night, tellin' em what ta dream." Blink clutched his hands behind his back with an authoritative scowl adorning his face, pacing across the bench to his friend's amusement. "She makes lover boys like yaself dream of der women, like preachers dream a' der prayers, or rich people dream a' money, or newsies dream a' der papes." Skittery cocked his head at the rush in his friend's voice, the redness in his cheeks, the glare in his eye. "She makes da drunkard sleepin' it off in a back alley behind some horehouse dream a' der next bottle." Faster and faster, angrier and angrier, the words spilled unchecked from his lips. "Da hallucination fairy makes li'l orphans in da streets dream of a roof over der heads, until dey wake up an' find the bulls chasin' em off wid sticks! She's da one who makes young goils lie on der backs in bed an' dream of lyin' down for der husbands. She's da one- " In three quick strides Racetrack crossed the cobblestone streets to stand by his friend, arm's clasping the raging boy's shoulders in desparation.  
  
"Calm down, Blink! Calm down! Dis is all bull!" Blink breathed deeply and swayed slightly in place, struggling to restore the trademark cheerful grin to his distorted features.  
  
"Your right Race. It is bull." Finally, he suceeded in a tight smile that was anything but convincing. "But hey, what do I know. I'm drunk."  
  
"Uh, fellas?" Skittery's cautious voice cut through the sudden, uncomfortable silence. "Maybe we should get ta da Red Hook. We'll be late as it is, an' we don't wanna call attention to ourselves, do we's?" The questions stirred Race and Blink from there stand off.  
  
"You're wrong, Skitts. We's getting dere too soon. Der's somethin' starting heah tanight, something bad. I could feel it." With a shake of his head to clear away the cobwebs of gloom, Racetrack chuckled and marched on. "But what da heck, It's all in da hands of da big guy upstairs. Let's get ta da party, shall we's?" still laughing to himself, he lead the way to Brooklyn.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Alright, I have a confession to make. I have to admit, I'm feeling a bit guilty about blackmailing REVIEWS out of my readers. I shouldn't have threatened discontinuation if you guys didn't REVIEW . I was very, very wrong. It's up to the REVIEWERS and the REVIEWERS alone whether or not they want to REVIEW. Heh heh heh. But do stay tuned for Act 5, dun dun dun!!! They meet atlast!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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	5. Act 5

Star Crossed Lovers - by Crunch  
  
*DOLLFACE!!! YAY! I missed you! *waves madly at Dollface, who gives her this really weird look. . .* Anyways, ofcourse, ol' chum, there's nothing to forgive! I'm glad you read the story, and liked it! So here ya go, just for you I updated!!! ;) ooh, not to ramble, but how'd the concert go? Ehh- I bet ya knocked 'em dead! KEEP READING!!!  
  
*Shortie- heehee, oh you are too much. Yay, you think about the chappie? That's great, and ya know? I don't even mind the capslocks. Yes, Blinks is mercutio, but I guess ya don't need me ta say it, good job! *pats on back* Hmm, I suppose I have wondered about that, but not of late, so thanks for reminding me to wonder. Oh, yes, race!muse was wonderful!!! *squeezes Race!muse who's sitting patiently next to her, whether he likes it or not*. Ok, well now to write, but thanks for reading! Keep doing it!  
  
*Morning Dew- Oh, yay! That's what I was going for, I'm glad it wasn't too corny. It was gonna be Mush, but who can pass up Blinks when they stare into his eye? Keep reviewing! Gratci!!! (is that how you spell it? I dunno. . .)  
  
*fearless- Ok, here ya go, I wrote more! But you knew that cause I emailed youse! See, I'm an author for the people. Heh heh heh. Hope ta hear from you again!  
  
*Maggie- oh yay, you like! Yes, it does suck, doesn't it? My God, what am I doing to my sweet baboo Racetrack! I've put the boy in a mental institution, killed his unborn child, what else can I put him through? Anyways, despite that suckiness, thanks so much and keep reviewing!  
  
*Monkey McCartney- Hmm. Yes, I suppose it does. . .  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Spot moved through the smoky bar room like a ball player dribbling down court, questioning waitresses and greeting party guests as he went.  
  
"Hey, Blackee, how's it rollin? Looken good, Bristols, very good. Nice mask. 'Ey, Lady!" He paused long enough to throw an arm around his girlfriends hips and run a hand across her breasts.  
  
"Spot, we'se in public!" She giggled, reveling in the attention.  
  
"Well, I just can't seem ta help meself. Didya talk ta me goil Ruby?"  
  
"Mmm, she said she'd look at Frenchy tanight. Dey would be a cute couple, wouldn't dey?" Lady flipped her hair and waited for the inevitable turn in the conversation, where Spotty would tell her how beautiful she herself looked. Maybe she could even drag him into the pantry for a quick go, if he wasn't too distracted. Turns out he was.  
  
"Yeah, dey'd be great all right. Ya know, I just want da best fah her. I care about da kid . . ." For one rare moment, the hardened leader of Brooklyn let his feelings show through the well-built wall of machoism. But his sincerity only lasted a moment, soon to be replaced by the urgency of buisness.  
  
"I'll see ya later, Lady." With a quick kiss, he left her cold in the middle of the floor, turning to joke with some close friend or employee.  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"Ey, waitress!" Racetrack called a black-skirted bar tender and motioned towards the center of the infamous Red Hook. There stood a girl, not really his type - he prefered them older, and more experienced. By the expression of wide-eyed innocence written across her sweet face, this girl had never heard the names of half the things he'd done. Still, she took his breath away. "Who's dat?"  
  
"Who do ya mean?" The bartender chewed distractedly on a cigarette as she struggled to balance the loaded trays in her straining arms.  
  
"That goil, da one wid da brown hair. . .standin' near da wall."  
  
"Dunno." The fading beauty shrugged and moved on, cursing as a wave of rum sloshed over the edge of one chipped glass. Briefly lifting the clumsy mask to get a better view, Race track turned back towards Ruby, sucking in an amorous breath between clenched teeth.  
  
"Damn, who is she?"  
  
"Race me boy!" Skittery stumbled into his friend and took it upon himself to lower the disguise. "Hey, do youse wanna get spotted? Whatsa matta wid you?"  
  
"Skittery, ya know how I thought I loved dat udder goil?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He leaned against the sturdier newsie, chest suddenly and wonderfully unsettled. "I was wrong. I aint never loved any body, not before now." Skittery rolled his eyes.  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
From his seat at the bar, Baron stopped cold, his drink frozen halfway between the ashy countertop and his quivering lips. That voice. . . he knew it. He hated it.  
  
"Manca, go on an' get me pistol." He snarled, shoving a hand through his slippery mass of oil-like hair. "Noone comes inta Brooklyn's territory an' messes wid me. . ."  
  
"Baron, cheese it!" Spot materialized at the boy's shoulder. Nursing a drink, he patted his friend stiffly on the back. "I don't want you startin' nothing tanight."  
  
"But Spot. . Don't you know who dat is?" He pointed his glass towards the boy moving quickly in the opposite direction. "Racetrack, dat son of a- "  
  
"You aint gonna touch Racetrack, got it?" The light banter did nothing to mask the tangable peril in Spot's voice. "See, Race may not be welcome, but he's got a lot a' friends all ovah New York, not just da Manhatten newsies. Plus Jacky boy really looks aftah him. . .I just don't need da trouble. You understand, Baron?"  
  
"But Spot, he. . ." Like a bolt of lightning Spot's clenched fist struck the side of Baron's face, halting any further complaints. Shocked in to submission, the sullen newsie massaged a sore cheek as his leader regained composure. For him, the transition from perilous to friendly was as easy as flipping a switch, especially with a few pints of whisky stirring in his veins. Spot adjusted his crooked cap as his eyes cooled to their normal shade of gray.  
  
"Now, let's not argue anymore, Baron. I like youse, but ya gotta learn ta listen ta what I say. An' I say, you aint touchin' Racetrack." Smiling, he handed the newsie his full glass. "Here, have anudder drink. Enjoy yourself. Oh, an' Baron?" As he melted into the crowd once again, Spot turned to his friend with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "Happy New Yeah."  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"So, why do dey call ya Ruby?" She smiled, in a breath taking show of child like happiness, telling her favorite story.  
  
"Cos me ma was queen a da gypsy's, didn't you know? An' one day, der was dis jewel theif, an'. . ."  
  
"Is any a dis true?" She shrugged playfully. "Ok, proove it. Read me palm."  
  
"What?" Race laughed gently and showed her his hand, palm side up. "If youse a gypsy, den you could read palms. So go ahead."  
  
Eyes narrowed suspiciously, she grasped his hand in hers. Carefully, Ruby traced her fingertips across the warm, thick-skinned heal of his palm and up and down the strong, inkstained fingers. As he leaned in closer, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He smelled like paper and freshly baked bread from the street vendors that crowded New York's cobblestone sidewalks just after day break.  
  
A voice from the direction of the bar momentarily broke through the spell as an unsteady newsie mounted his stool, pocket watch waved aloft to emphasize his slirred words.  
  
"Hey all! Twen'y seconds ta midnight, right heah!" Biting her lip anxiously, Ruby turned back to the stranger.  
  
"So whadya see?"  
  
"Hmm. . ." He found her devotion to the make believe talent intoxicating. "Well, I see you aint really interested in knowin' your future. An' why do you keep lookin' at me like dat?"  
  
"15. . .14. . .13. . ."  
  
Cautiously Racetrack lifted his mask once again, reveling in the cool air against his flushed skin as he smiled sweetly. "Cos I think you're pretty. You look like an Angel." To his amusement, she blushed furiously.  
  
"9. . .8. ."  
  
"Well I aint an angel, any more den you are."  
  
"Somehow I doubt dat. So anyways, If you really is an angel like I thinks you are, den maybe you could help me out."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Help me be like youse. Help me fly like youse."  
  
"3. . .2. . .1. . ."  
  
Not waiting for a reply, he slowly leaned into her, pressing against her soft lips with his. She tasted wonderfully warm and sweet. After a single moment that seemed to linger for eternity, their lips parted in a sudden rush of breath, leaving them staring, open mouthed, into eachothers eyes. Ruby could swear she saw stars in there.  
  
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" The room errupted in a chorus of cheers and whistles.  
  
"Wow. You. . .you've done dat before, I see." Ruby struggled for words, still caught up in the magic of her first kiss. As she felt the world spin beneath her feet, she knew in that moment that nobody else on the planet was more in love then she was.  
  
"Ruby! Ruby!" The young girl turned in time to brace her self as Nanny's chubby figure came barreling into them. "Ruby, Lady wants ta talk ta youse.'  
  
"About what?" Nan peered over her shoulder at Racetrack, before Ruby could side step to block her view.  
  
"An' who's dis? It aint Frenchy, dats for soah."  
  
"ABOUT WHAT, Nan?" sensing the tension in her friend's voice, Nan turned back to the task at hand.  
  
"Somethin' about Blackee, or maybe it was about bees; I dunno, I weren't really listenin'. Now go on, 'fore she get's mad!" With a gentle shove to the small of her back, Nan sent Ruby flying off into the crowd. Moving quickly, Race placed a hand on Nan's shoulder to stop her from following.  
  
"'Scuse me, Miss. Could you tell me, who da Hell is dat? I mean. . ." The plump news girl looked him up and down, casting a suspicious eye from the dilapidated mask perched on his head, to his grimy boots and back again.  
  
"If ya must know, dat's Ruby. Raised her meself I did, from a li'l water logged tyke. But she's like Spot's sistah, so don't go getting any ideas. . ." Her grating voice trailed off in a blur as Race's head swam with the irony of it all. Ruby. Like Spot's sister. A BROOKLYNITE.  
  
"Hey, Race!" Skittery elbowed his way through the pulsing, rowdy crowd, panting as he grabbed his stunned friend by the arm. "Time's up! Baron knows we's heah, an I trust dat guy as far as. . .you could throw him." Grinning madly, he pulled Racetrack towards Blink, swaying on his feet by the exit.  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"Nan, come 'ere." Ruby beckoned from across the emptying saloon, wringing her small hands in anticipation. This had to be done carefully; She's never seen the stranger before their kiss, which meant in all probibility he wasn't a Brooklynite. Maybe a crasher from Queens or the West Side, they were always a nuisance at these parties, and if word got back to Spot. . .  
  
"Did ya have a good time tanight, luv?" Nan laughed, the bliss of alcohol shining in her wide coppery eyes.  
  
"Uh huh. . .Nan, who is dat guy, ovah der." She pointed to a random newsie still seated at the near abandonned counter.  
  
"Oh, dat's Swivel. Nice kid, kinda simple, youse can do bettah den dat." Nanny replied, showing off her prized ear for gossip.  
  
"An who's dat?"  
  
"Da one in da blue vest? Diamond, now he's a good catch fer any goil - "  
  
"Yeah, and, who was dat boy, you know, da one wid da paper mask?" With a look of delight, Nanny leaned in to whisper confidingly, though in her tipsy state the words came out at more of a yell.  
  
"I heah dat's Racetrack, a Manhatten newsie! Can you imagine, dem Manhattenites showin' up heah, of all places?" Ruby lurched backwards in surprise, though Nan rambled on oblivious. "Dey say he's Jack Kelly's second in command, a real big wig over der. Careful a him, Ruby, you know dem Manhattenites only want one thing. . ."  
  
Nodding distractedly, the younger girl turned on her heel and staggered towards the wall, leaving her friend conversing with the empty air. Leaning against the rough brick surface for support, she felt hot tears of frustration spring to her velvety sapphire eyes. "Kelly's second. I'm in love wid a Manhattenite." She groaned. "Gawd, just kill me now."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Oh jeeze, you guys were right. Spot IS getting scary. Ok, well let's just say he's not really mean, just an aggressive drunk. Hmmm.  
  
Damn, this chapter was a bit fluffy in the mary sue department, but it IS Romeo and Juliet, what could I do?  
  
Okee dokee then, whadya think? You know what to do. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Or else Spot will hit you with his SHOE! 


	6. Act 6

Star Crossed Lovers - by Crunch  
  
*Doll Face - YIPEE!!! Oh, I do love this story. Yes, and I too share a fondness of the word 'Machoism'. It conjures up the image of Spot in a cowboy/ fireman/ construction worker/ Native American/ I forgot the other one- suit. *it's fun to be at the YMCA*. Awww, Race and Ruby, so cute. . .Anyways, yes, you may be hit with Spot's shoe. And you get no weird looks, even the boy's shoe in the face would be an honor. CONGRATS!!! Yeah for Doll Face, ofcourse you didn't mess up, you were BRILLIANT. I know these things, I just do. So keep reviewing and reading, ttyl!  
  
*Misprint - Yes. THE SHOE. Heh heh, the things that go through my mind sometimes. . .yeah I'm so happy you like it! Race track IS quite the mack daddy, but a cutie- patootie one, so it's ok. Hee, Race track in puffy pants, you're not the only one that amuses. So THANKS SO MUCH!!!! For the review, it turned my frown upside down. Well, no I was really smiling cos I was sitting next to Race!muse, but, thanks anyways. Keep reading!  
  
*Monkey McCartney- mmm, Spot is a bit scary, but I'd liike to think he's good at heart, so don't worry he'll get nicer. After he get's freakier MWAHAAHAA!!! Oh yes, how could I pass up my sweer baboo Racetrack? He doesn't get enough play, I tell ya. Thanks soo much for reviewing, do it again! Do it again!  
  
*Drama Queen- ok I will! Here ya goes!  
  
*CrAzyLyN- oh, sneaky sneaky. Don't worry, I won't tell. Oh, I'm so glad you like the Mercutio thing. I dunno if you've read it yet, but I apologize about chappie 5, where I may have gotten a tad out of character, but it was so long and things will I straighten out, I promise. REVIEW AGAIN! I WANT MORE!  
  
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Only a block from the Red Hook, on the path back to Manhattan, stood the Brooklyn New Girls Lodging House - a decrepit brick structure silent in the darkness. Race paused in his tracks as he passed the building, and after a quick glance at his friends stumbling ahead of him, with Blink draped across Skittery for support in his tipsy state, the newsie turned on his heel and sprinted away. Expertly he hopped a rusted iron fence into a back alley echoing with the clang of stray cats pawing through trash cans. Race ducked behind the foul smelling dumpster as he heard the calls of his pals upon realizing he was no longer behind them.  
  
"Race track! Come on out! It's too late for dis!"  
  
"Answer us Race! Lover boy!" Blink slurred, exasperated and amused. "I bet you'd answer if we was Bristols callin' youse, wid Bristol's lips, an' Bristol's eyes, and Bristol's bristols. . ."  
  
"Blink, if he hears you he'll just get maddah. " Skittery hissed. "Come on, he aint heah anymore, an' if he is he aint listenin'. He's too in lOVE." Crouched in the chilly gloom, Race could picture the boy rolling his eyes in his trademark response to all matters of the heart.  
  
"Fine, let's go ta bed, den. Me head is killin' me, an I'se sure Racey can find somewhere else ta sleep tanight!" Race track breathed a sigh of releif as he listened to their retreating footsteps.  
  
"He's one ta talk." Race muttered under his breath. Shivering against the bitter cold, he glanced up towards the frosted, blackened window of the girl's room, looming high above his head.  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Ruby awoke to the Ping! Ping! Of tiny raindrops against the cracked and grimy glass of the Lodging House window panes. Shaking back the cobwebs of sleep from her eyes, she eased from her bunk so as not to wake the other girls and crept silently to the window in question. God, she needed some fresh air. Through the layers of dirt and bird droppings, she saw the blurred image of the moon, like a pale orb against the black satiny night sky. Quietly, she eased open the frame and stepped out onto the fire escape, shocked into full wakefullness by the icy iron grating that stung her bare feet. Through the slight mist the streets of New York lay still as death.  
  
"Ruby!" Race whispered and pressed himself into the brick walls as he peered up through the metal staircase. Even in the darkness, with cheeks scarlet from the cold and strands of auburn hair plastered and dripping against the smooth curve of her forehead, she was stunning; brighter then any star in the sky. Brighter then the sun.  
  
Grasping the frozen railing beneath trembling purple fingers, he teetered on the verge of climbing the fire escape, professing his love with the dependable courage of whisky to back him up. Just then, he started as her voice cut through the night like Moses parting the seas.  
  
"Gawd, Racetrack." He stared in shock as she burried her tired face in her hands. She'd said his name. She'd REMEMBERED his name. "Race, why do you have ta be from Manhatten? An why da hell does it even mattah?" He inched closer for a better view. Carefully resting one boot on the first step of the staircase. Through the criss cross of iron bars he could only see the souls of her feet, white and shivering, though her voice still echoed strongly through the night, tinged with bitter frustration. Up on the fire escape, the girl tilted her head to the stars, torn between soaring with happiness or crying in desparation. "Please just love me anyways."  
  
"Well, dat aint a problem. I already do." She started at the sound of his voice beneath her, gazing down in shock.  
  
"Race track? Wha- What are you doin' heah? How did ya find me?" She dropped to her hands and knees and peered at his smiling face through the grating.  
  
"I flew."  
  
"But you didn't know I was heah."  
  
"Soah I did, I felt youse." Biting her lip hard in an effort not to cry out in joy, she beckoned for him to come up. Race's grin deepend as he followed the path of the rungs, round and round, till he stood on the flight of steps before her. "Ruby, I just. . ."  
  
"Shh, da goils is sleepin'."  
  
"Sorry." He dropped his voice to a whisper that bubbled over with excitement. "It's just, I like bein' wid you. Near you. I aint evah felt as good as I do around youse." She blushed, and he felt himself falling in deeper.  
  
"If Baron or his chums knew you was heah, dey'd moidah youse."  
  
"LET 'EM!" He cried, flinging his arms wide.  
  
"SHHH!"  
  
"Sorry, I forgot. Let em come. You'd protect me."  
  
"Race. . ." She sucked in her breath and chewed on her lip nervously, not being as drunk or as bold as the boy infront of her. "Ya know what youse said before, about how you feel bettah den you evah have when youse wid me?" He nodded. "Well, I do too. I mean, I feel like dat when I'm wid you. BUT. . ." Ruby dodged slightly as he leaned in for a second kiss. "But whats ta say dat tamorrow, you're gonna fell da same? Whats ta say you won't jus' forget about me, or find someone better?"  
  
"Better den what, den youse?" gently Race reached out and grasped her hand, squeezing her small fist reassuringly. "Der isn't anythin' better den youse."  
  
"Maybe we's goin' too fast. I mean, we just met, so how do you know. . ."  
  
"I just do. And you'd know it too, if ya let yourself. I wanna spend me life wid youse." Cautiously, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around his small, but sturdy frame. Even in this arctic weather he gave off warmth like a coal box.  
  
"I do know it, Race. I - I love ya too."  
  
Behind her, Ruby heard the creak of the bed as one girl stirred. From the sheer volume of the creaks, it wasn't hard to figure out who that girl was. "Ruby?" Nanny's familiar voice called out throught the drowsy mists of sleep.  
  
"Just gettin' some fresh air, Nan. I'll be in in a sec." Hurried, she turned back to the boy standing innocently in front of her. "Listen, Race. If you'se really serious. . ."  
  
"I am, I swears it."  
  
"Den, den I'll send someone to ya, tamorrow. Ta see if you still wanna be wid me."  
  
"I do. Forever."  
  
"Ruby!" The cry rang out again. Quickly, she leaned in and kissed him, right there on the steps of the fire escape, bathed in the light of the full moon.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Peh! PEH! *Crunch spits to get the taste of all that Mary-Sue-ness out of her mouth* I know, that chapter was REALLY mushy (hah, Mush!) but anyways, It's still a happy li'l chapter. So if ya liked that REVIEW! And if you didn't just hang in their, we'll get back to the stuff you like shortly. AND REVIEW ANYWAYS! Give Race!Muse something to smile about. *Race!muse waves delightedly*  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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	7. Act 7

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
*Misprint- oh, yay, this review makes me tres happy. You don't have to explain, really, but if you fell the need. . .J/K! (or am I? *twirls imaginary mustache*) One think I HAVE to as you, when does it say "Here's your knife" in Newsies? I've watched the whole movie, and I can't find it!!! It's driving me MAD! Yes, really to bad about Racey - poo, but we're a long way off, so keep reading! And REVIEWING!  
  
*Dollface- YAY! I'm so glad you liked it, that's my favorite part too and I didn't wanna cheapen it up or anything! (Shakespeare must be rollin over in his grave with all this damn talk about Bristols though. . .) Oh, and SOMEONE hasn't been UPDATING!! So don't waste your time on this babble (J/K, please do!) and go write!  
  
*Shortie- oh, oh gosh. . .*staggers backwards completely taken by surprise* idol? OMG, why sure, but only if you can be mine! This is the time. . . was awesome, definitely write more like it! And oh gawd that friggin flamer for Santa fe. . .*grits teeth and hugs Race!muse a bit too hard for comfort* you are so much better then that, keep writing!  
  
*Monkey McCartney- oh thankyou, thankyou, I'd take sweet over corny/sappy any day, so that's really a great compliment! Ahh, the fire escape. . .I would that Racey were standing under my fire escape right now. . .*runs to check, but he's not there. Grrr.*  
  
*Jo- oh, yes yes ofcourse, since you asked so nicely, here is an update just for you!!! I hope you're brain did not explode waiting, that did take a long time, for me that is. . . * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The bottle of whisky lay half-hidden beneath the rumpled sheets of an anonymous newsie's empty bunk. With a sigh, Kloppman's trembling and warped old fingers closed around the flask, filled with the remains of some glittering amber liquid; God knows what, as his eyes were too cloudy these days to read the fine print of the label. Though alchohaul was hardly allowed in the Lodging Quarters, these afternoon cleanings never failed to produce a stray shot glass or two. These kids would never learn.  
  
"'Ey, Kloppman! Kloppman!" The graying old man jumped at the sound of Race's foot steps thundering up the groaning wooden staircase. Flushed with excitement and gasping for breath, the scrappy Italian turned the corner with a spring in his step and a tune on his lips.  
  
"Mmm, you didn't sleep last night, did you?" The sight of Race's neatly made bed told the story.  
  
"Nah, I don't need sleep. I been on da go fah hours, coffee should be drinkin' me!" He laughed.  
  
"Well, you didn't sleep here. . ." His kind eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Maybe you found room in Bristol's bed?"  
  
"Wha- Bristol? No! An' anyways, I'm ovah dat." Race leaned against the frame of a nearby bunk, a dreamy look hovering in his large eyes. "See, der's dis goil. . ."  
  
"Uh huh." Kloppman paused in his tidying long enough to roll his eyes. With Race, there was always a girl.  
  
". . .'Er name's Ruby. Aint dat a great name?"  
  
"Breathtaking." The old man nodded distractedly. Race missed the jibe completely.  
  
"You're right about dat. So dis goil, she's da one."  
  
"The one?"  
  
"Da one I wanna spend me life wid." With a love sick sigh he collapsed on the bunk, then promptly fell to the grubby wooden floorboards with a THUD as Kloppman yanked off the sheets to change them.  
  
"Racetrack, I care for you like a son. But you, my boy, change lovers more then the rules in a poker game."  
  
"But this time it's fah real. I know it is, not like last time. I t'ink, I wanna marry her."  
  
"MARRY? Are you CRAZY, boy?" The man doubled over, seized by a sudden coughing fit. Race gestured absentmindedly from his spot on the floor.  
  
"Breath, Kloppman. It's good fah your health."  
  
"My health is not the problem!" With a shuddering sigh, he lowered himself painfully onto the bunk above Race, making every effort to speak kindly. These kids would be the death of him someday. "Racetrack, you can't rush into these things. What if you'd married that floozy girl, Bristols was her name? You'd have woken up with a hangover and a wife named after the female anatomy."  
  
"Hey, dat aint fair!" The newsie staggered to his feet. "I was nevah serious about Bristol's anyways. . ."  
  
"Mm hmm."  
  
". . .And she definitely wasn't serious about me. Dis goil, she loves me. She said so. Anyways," He stared down at his hands, ink-stained and scarred from years filled with nights spent curled up on the streets, defending his stoop or overhang from any punk who tried to wrestle it from him. If not for Kloppman, he'd probably still be there, huddled in the gutter for warmth. Or else he'd be dead. "You got a brudder who's a preachah, don't you Kloppman? You could make dis happen, I know it. Der's just one catch- she's from Brooklyn." Kloppman stopped dead in his tracks as Racetrack continued, oblivious. "Infact, she's like Conlon's little sistah. So dat's why we gotta do dis fast, 'afore he finds out." Finally he glanced up at Kloppman, desparation in his liquid brown eyes. "Please, do dis for me?"  
  
Though his worry-lined face remained stoic and unmoving as always, Kloppman's head spun with the possibilities. He was tired of this rivalry, tired of seeing the boy's he loved like his own children ripped apart by a meaningless fued. Tired of bathing the cuts and broken bones as his newsies stumbled in in the dead of night, groaning in pain as they told the same story over and over again, another fight. Most of all, he was tired of posting the "Bed Empty" sign in the front window when one of his newsies didn't come home. "Maybe. . . maybe." He turned to Racetrack, egged on by the voice in his head telling him this could change it all. The union of a Brooklynite and a Manhattenite, why, it might even end the war. "Yes, Race. I'll help you."  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Kid Blink squinted into the rising sun, moaning as the light peirced his brain like a thousand hammers. With a half-hearted sigh he leaned back against the bronzed statue, trying not to jar his head. 'I'll nevah drink again' He though, then swigged down an early morning drink to ease the pain of his hangover. "'Ey, Skitts, you seen Racetrack since last night?"  
  
"Nah." His friend broke off jabbing at thin air with his wooden staff, settling down in the dust below Blink. "He nevah came home. I talked ta Jack at da distribution office dis mornin', he aint seen 'im neither."  
  
"Must be dat goil, whatser name? She's drivin' im mad." He paused for a drag of his cigarette, sheltering the fragile flame from a sudden, harsh gust of wind. "Yup, he's crazy alright."  
  
"Baron sent 'im a note, ya knows."  
  
"Dat so?"  
  
"Yup. One a' his stooges gave it ta me dis mornin'. Says he wants a fight." Blink smirked, burrowing down in his thin Jacket and jamming his fists inside the torn pockets for warmth.  
  
"Wonder what Racey's gonna do about it."  
  
Skittery looked up, offended . "He's gonna beat 'im, dat's what 'e's gonna do about it. You t'ink he can't?" In a cloud of dust Blink's feet met the cobblestones. He smacked Skittery good-naturedly on the cheek and disarmed him of his favorite stick, jabbing playfully at the boy's chest as he danced back and forth. The newsie leaped to his feet, just in time to throw himself back to the ground to avoid Blink's wild stabs.  
  
"I'll tell ya one t'ing, Baron may be a well-dressed pansy, but 'e aint no suckah. In one thrust, just ONE shove. . ." He rested the end of the staff over Skittery's heart as he lay smiling and panting on the ground. "Bang, ya pushin' up da daisies." Blink reached down and gave his friend a hand up, the mischevious smile fading from his clenched lips. "'E's awso a hoity toity, good fah nothin' fairy. I hate da bastid." Gazing into his friend's blazing eyes, Skittery felt a shiver run down his spine, shaking his very soul.  
  
"Skitts! Blink!" The two turned to see Racetrack sprinting towards them from across the square. Blink grinned, his rage momentarily forgotten.  
  
"Racey! How do ya do? Der, dat's a worthy greetin' to your nonsence, aint it? Ya stepped out on us last night."  
  
"Who, me?"  
  
"Yeah, aint you a peach."  
  
He shrugged apologetically. "I 'ad important bizness. You undahstand, I had ta bow out."  
  
"You mean ya had ta bend ovah for Bristol?"  
  
"Least I weren't bent ovah wid me head in da john like you was." Blink laughed and through his arms open.  
  
"Der, aint dis bettah den your love-sick crap? Don't you feel bettah, now dat you'se yourself?" Race's eyes twinkled, but he kept quiet when he saw a familiar figure approaching from behind Blink's shoulder.  
  
"Well, hows about dis?"  
  
Nanny huffed as she trudged up, carrying her heavy skirts as they trailed through the dust behind her. She did her best to ignore the cat calls and whistles from Kid Blink's direction. "G'day, boys. Could ya tell me, which one a you bummers is Racetrack?"  
  
Skittery stepped forwards, his armed crossed. "Who wants ta know?"  
  
"Yeah, did our Racey stand you up or somethin', sweety?" She sniffed as she sized up the newsie, from the jaunty leather eye patch to the impish grin.  
  
"I soah hopes you aint him, fah Ruby's sake."  
  
"You came from Ruby?" Race stepped forwards eagerly, as his friend threw is arms out in exasperation.  
  
"Race, me and Skitts is goin' ovah ta Tibby's ta meet Jack. You comin?" He shook his head distractedly. "Ok den, but careful Race, she might eat ya!" Blink snickered and pranced off, laughing with Skittery as he went.  
  
"Sorry about 'im, miss, 'e just loves ta hear hisself talk. . ." he broke off at Nanny's pudgy finger in his face.  
  
"You t'ink I don't know your type? Well, I do, an' if you aint serious about my Ruby, if you's just leadin' er on, den so help me I'se gonna come aftah you meself!"  
  
Race frowned. "Miss, I aint leadin' her on, I wouldn't do dat. I love 'er. And I wanna be wid her." "If you tell her ta meet me at Father Kloppman's taday at noon. . ." inhaling a cloud of frigid air that froze his lungs, he stared at the newsgirl with all the honesty and innocence he could muster. "Den she's gonna find herself a husband." Above their heads, the wind howled.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
M'eh, whadya think? To my credit, it's late, and I'm pooped. Too pooped even to think of a new brillian scheme to procure reviews, so we're just gonna go with that shoe thing again. That seemed to work well. REVIEW!!!!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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	8. Act 8

Star-crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
*Shortie- Hah, a devil, I love it! Even though I'm too old, I plan on being. . .da da da! RACEY! Actually, I got the idea from a reviewer, so one person can make a difference. . . Anyways oh gosh yes, my head is so huge right now, I can barely hear you over my rapidly inflating ego. Thank you SOOO much!!! I am so sad *sniff* that Blink is gonna. . .*overcome with sobs and unable to finish sentence*. And yes, you better repost Santa Fe, It was brilliant! Stupendous! And btw, just for you, Mush will make an appearance, and he won't even DIE!! Hows that for a deal?  
  
*Doll Face- HOO YAA!! Yeah, I kind of feel bad I've turned Blinky into a lush, but that's just the way it came out. Oh, I wish he wouldn't die!!!! Well, we'll have to wait another chapter for that though. . Anyways, yes I expect a posting MIGHTY SOON. Ok, well, I better let you get to that than, Happy Holloween! P.s. did you go trick-or-treating? I just have ta ask, costumes are so fun!  
  
*Morning Dew- Whoo Hooo, two reviews to thank you for! Sorry, I posted the last update JUST before I got your last review, so *sniffs apologetically* You were jipped of a shout out. Ah well, you forgive me, right? Oh, I MUST thank you for the addition to your favorites, I now am on TWO favorite authors lists, HOO YAA! I know it's not really worthy of bragging rights, but you still made me REALLY happy, as is obvious by all the capital letters. Keep r/r!!!  
  
*Misprint- I FOUND IT!!! At least I think I did, it was a blink-and-you- miss thing, so I'm pretty sure. Thanks for opening my eyes to a whole new level of Newsies!!! Ahh, those newsies goofs always bum me out, even if they are funny. Didja see the one where Spot's in the middle of a the cheering crowd at the end, and in the next shot he comes storming up yelling "BROOKLYN!" probably you have, but anyways, good times. Yeah, Racetrack, how do I love thee, let me count the ways. . .nope I can't, there are too many. Anyway's, keep r/r!! Happy Holloween!  
  
*Moods- No no, it's not your fault at all, it's my fault for not posting it sooner. Actually, you're not the only one who asked, Shortie didn't know either. . .*waves smugly at shortie, before ducking behind Race!muse for cover* So anyways, Bristols is cockney slang for, umm, boobies. It started as Bristol city, and City rhymes with. . .well I don't have to say THAT aloud. So, hence Bristols, the part of the female anatomy. Well anyways, thanks for the review! *tucks spotty in her pocket* Keep r/r!!  
  
*Kristen- Ah, thank you, so much, here ya go! Keep reading!! And if you REALLY wanna review, well don't let me stop you.  
  
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"God help me." Kloppman shook his head and wiped the sweat from his creased brow as Racetrack turned and raised an eyebrow. "I hope I'm doing the right thing."  
  
"Kloppman, will ya quit worryin'? Nothin' about dis could go wrong." Anxiously he turned back towards the gaping wooden doors of St. Michael's Church, twisting the tails of his already wrinkled shirt between sweaty palms. "Where is she, anyways? What's takin' so long? I'm about ta croak from me nerves."  
  
"Patience, son. Talk like that will get you nowhere." The two stood silent once more, bathed in the colored light streaming through the emense stained-glass windows of the church. To keep him self busy, Race let his eyes wander across the pictures, lingering on, the only story he recognized, the Last Supper. Well, he never was much for religeon.  
  
"Ah, there she is now!" Race whipped his head around in time to see Ruby stroll nervously through the archway, head tucked into her ragged shawl for warmth and modesty. The boy reached out and gently took her hand as she approached, finding her eyes with his. "'Ey, Ruby. Nice ta see ya again, eh?" She laughed shyly before remembering her manners.  
  
"Uh, t'anks for da help, Mr. Kloppman. Race told me all about how youse like a fadder to 'im, and how you gots your brudder ta marry us, even though we aint got enough ta pay."  
  
"Ah, my dear, seeing you two happily together will be thanks enough." The newsboy shot a grateful look to the old man and turned to his fiance, flushed with anticipation.  
  
"Ruby, you can't possibly be as happy as I is right now, noone in da woild can. I promise, I'll take care a' youse, an' worship youse all da days of me life."  
  
"Aww, Racetrack, I aint woith dat." He smiled, amused.  
  
"Ruby, your woith everything ta me. Don't you know dat?" Kloppman nodded anxiously, breaking the joyous silence.  
  
"Well then, let's get on with it, shall we? My brother's waiting."  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
With a deep breath to calm the butterflys swirling madly in the pit of his stomach, Racetrack adjusted his cap, tugged on the frayed bowtie he'd swiped from Spec's dresser drawer, and turned to face Ruby as the first notes of a familiar tune sounded from the chorus, echoing off the ivory walls.  
  
~*~  
  
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound  
  
That saved a wretch like me,  
  
I once was lost, but now am found  
  
Was blind, but now I see.  
  
~*~  
  
One foot after the other, careful not to stumble and rip the borrowed dress she wore, Ruby made her way down the isle. With the glow of excitement and love lighting her from within, she looked radient. She looked young.  
  
Racetrack linked arms with his bride. The two shared a quiet, nervous giggle as their eyes met. "Dearly beloved," Padre Kloppman began.  
  
~*~  
  
T'was grace that taught my heart to fear,  
  
And grace my fears releived.  
  
How prescious did that grace appear,  
  
The hour I first believed.  
  
~*~  
  
Beaming so hard his face ached, Race clenched his fingers around the ring that lay heavy and smooth in his pocket. After rubbing it quickly against the worn cloth in a last ditch effort to polish away the years of dust it had gathered in the hawk shop, he pulled it out and slipped it onto Ruby's slim finger, praying it wouldn't be too large. Turns out, it fit like it was made for her. Inwardly, Race thanked the fates.  
  
"I now pronounce you man and wife." Padre clapped his bible shut with a SLAM! "You may kiss the bride."  
  
~*~  
  
Through many dangers toil and snares,  
  
I have already come.  
  
Twas grace hath brought me safe thus far,  
  
And grace will lead me home.  
  
~*~  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Awwwww, wasn't that a cute little chapter? It's just a little tie-in, I know the wedding wasn't in Shakespear's version, but hey, we've got some SAD chappies coming up, so let's enjoy the cuteness that is Race and Ruby while we can, ey? Anyways, tell me what you think. . . complain, flame, give the old ego a boost, I don't care. . . just REVIEW 


	9. Act 9

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
Wow, looky here, that was a REALLY quick little update!  
  
*Shortie- oh WOW! I've always aspired to be a minion! MWAHAAHAA, the aboslute POWER! Anyways, well since you asked so nicely, sure! You could be in it, I guess Mush can have his arm wrapped around a girl when the time comes, just give me a description!! Yeah, Race hasn't had much time to gamble, what with the irrational obsession and all, (j/k, kind of) The whole song thing, well, you're a lot better at that then I am, but they needed a little wedding song filler, and I didn't want to write TOO much wedding bliss. Hence, amazing grace. Well thanks for reviewing my insignificant little chapter, enjoy!  
  
*Misprint- Yes, I agree, the momentary lack of Shakespeare was nessesary. Mm, I'd like to believe Spotty can just move at lightning speed, it wasn't REALLY a mistake. Sorry that last chapter was so, uh, crappy. Here's a better one, I hope. R/R!!!!!  
  
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An indian summer had swept over the streets of Manhatten, melting the frosts and sending a river of murky water flowing along the cobblestone side walks, taking everything in it's path with it. It was too early, Skittery reflected as he squinted up at the violent sun, glaring down like a single, fiery eye. Noone was ready for the heat.  
  
"Hey Blink!" Skittery panted, peeling back the thread-bare pink shirt that clung to his sweat soaked chest. "Come on, let's go ta Tibby's or somethin'. It's Gawd damn near boilin' out heah, an' I hoid Brooklyn's out lookin' fah blood today! You know people got short tempahs when it's hot." Kid Blink paused in his boxing match with the nearby shrubbery and turned to face his friend, perched listlessly on the base of their favorite, sunwarmed statue.  
  
"Well, listen ta da pot callin' da kettle black."  
  
"Whadya mean?"  
  
"Skitts me boy, let's face it. You're a madman in disquise, you is. You're like dat guy who walks inta a bar, slaps 'is gun on da counter an prays 'e won't need ta use it, but by 'is third tequilla shoots a guy in da head fah lookin' at 'im cross eyed." Blinks grinned, drawing the gleaming pistol he kept tucked in the waste band of his trowsers and flicking it playfully in his friend's face. Skittery frowned, unflinching.  
  
"No, I aint. Am I?"  
  
"Skitts, you go through fights like crap through a goose." Chuckling, he twirled the gun expertly before slipping it back into place.  
  
"Yeah, well if I was half as bad as you, half a New York would buy me life for a cup a' coffee." The newsie glanced up at the sounds of wild laughter drifting across the square. "Gawd, heah comes Brooklyn." Blink patted his friend on the shoulder and climbed the statue, resting his feet carelessly on the arms of a bronzed Horus Greely.  
  
"Let 'em come."  
  
The Brooklyn Newsie approached, dripping with threat from his oiled black hair to the gleaming black shoes, far too fancy to grace your average newsie's feet. Dragging on a cigar, he gestured grandly at the two Manhattenites, to the amusement of his cronies. "Could I have a woid wid one a youse?"  
  
"Ahh, is dat da best you could do, Baron? Can't ya make it, say, a woid an' a swing?"  
  
Baron smirked. "I'm lookin fah Racetrack. Figured you might know where he is, Blink, or aint you seen 'im since he left ya bed dis mornin'?" A deadly tension blanketed the air as Blink stood suddenly, trembling with rage.  
  
"You should NOT have said dat, Baron." In a last ditch effort for peace, Skittery placed a restraining hand on his friend's back.  
  
"Come on, Blink, we's in public. People are startin' ta stare. Let's just take dis somewhere else, so's we don't end up in da refuge, ey?"  
  
"So let 'em stare, I aint movin' for noone." Fuming, he stalked towards his leering opponent. Just then, Baron held up a hand.  
  
"Hold on, here comes just da man I wanted ta see." Racetrack, who'd been sprinting across the square on a quest to tell his friends the good news, tie streaming behind him, stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his enemy. Blink grinned.  
  
"Here 'e is, indeed. Now we'll see what you'se made of. Racetrack!" Breathing deeply, Race passed his friend and strolled slowly up to Baron.  
  
"Listen, Baron, I aint gonna fight wid youse. See, der's a reason I can't, a better one den you know." With his bride in mind, the newsie extended a hand. After a lingering moment of confusion, rage dawned on Baron's face.  
  
"You can't get away wid dis, ya bum. After all you done ta me?" Race scoffed.  
  
"Aww, I aint never hoit youse, Baron." Whipping out an iron fist, the raging boy punched him across the mouth. Startled, Race reached up to wipe away the trickle of blood, but didn't return the blow.  
  
"What is dis?" Kid Blink, who'd been watching the face off with growing discust, stepped forward. "If Race aint gonna fight youse, Baron, den I'll just have ta do it."  
  
"Cheese it! BLINK! Skittery, help me!" The newsie shrugged out of Race's grasp, a sneer that dripped with menace forming on his lips. With a flick of Baron's wrist, the ultimate challenge, he charged.  
  
"BROOKLYN!" The two met in a clash of battle cries and punches; fists flew, teeth clenched; and blood ran.  
  
"You're finished, Manhatten!"  
  
"Oh, I aint even started yet." Consumed by the red mists of blind fury, Blink found himself bent over his floundering opponent, the red-stained pistol pressed to the boy's heaving temple, his finger inching towards the trigger.  
  
"No, Don't!" Racetrack threw himself between the two, desparately grasping at Blink's arms. "Blink. . ." He pleaded, staring into his friend's flashing eyes. Too busy calming his friend, he never noticed Baron staggering to his feet in the background until he found the Newsie's arm thrust beneath his, one trembling fist grasping the chipped handle of an outdated street knife. He never saw the blade though; it was already imbedded in Blink's stomach. With his heart down around his feet, he watched in horror as the boy's face, inches from his, contorted in pain and shock. "Blink?" Pale and glistening with sweat, Kid Blink staggered backwards, taking the knife with him. Slowly, he gazed down at his abdomen.  
  
"Wow. . . I . . .been stabbed." He muttered beneath his breath. As if in slow motion, he clasped his bloodied hands around the handle and, in a shuddering, heart-wrenching cry of pain, pulled the knife from his body. It fell to the dust with a clatter.  
  
"Oh, Gawd, Blink!" Skittery cried, before falling to his hands and knees and vomitting in the dust. To Race's releif and amazement, Blink managed a small, quivering smile.  
  
"It's nothin'." He croaked. "Just, just a scratch."  
  
Race stepped tentatively forwards. "Blink, you ok?"  
  
"Sure." He staggered forwards, one hand clasped to his front. With the other he slapped his friend's cheek. "I'se told ya, it's just a scratch." He laughed, a dry chuckle that soon dissolved into sobs. "But it'll do." He glanced upwards for the first time, sadness welling in his hazel eye. "Why, Race? Why'd ya do it?"  
  
"I'm sorry. . ." He struggled to choke back the tears. "I thought, I thought I was doin' da right thing. . ."  
  
"Skitts, help me?" Still trembling, his normally tanned skin turned pale as a ghost, Skittery climbed unsteadily to his feet. Shakily he rushed to Blink's side.  
  
"It'll be ok, pal. You'll be ok - BLINK!" He sobbed as his friend collapsed, folding over onto the ground. Swiftly Racetrack moved to cradle the shivering boy in his arms.  
  
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Blink nodded weakly through his tears, though his eyes still burned with sorrow.  
  
"You an' Baron, Gawd damn da both a youse ta hell!" He heaved a final sigh as Racetrack howled.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Well, *Sniffle*, we all knew it would come to this. Poor Blink. Poor, poor Blink. On a lighter note, Review! Turn that frown upside down! *Runs off sobbing, looking for a race!muse to hug*  
  
REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! 


	10. Act 10

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
Ooh, the much-anticipated next chapter!!!  
  
First must thank EVERYONE who reviewed my short, insignificant fuzzy stories: Shortie, butterfly, misprint, cards, randomness, Doll face, sparksdanewsie, Mondie, Keza, SeXyDaDdYmAgNeT69, Kathryn Mason-sykes, SeXyDaDdYmAgNeT69 AGAIN!!, Shortie AGAIN!!, Misprint AGAIN!!, Mondie AGAIN!! Doll Face AGAIN!!, and Rhapsody. You guys. . *sniffle* you rock so much! WAAAHAAAHAAA!!!!  
  
*Morning Dew- Oh, I feel so guilty, I always update JUST before I get your reviews, and so I just miss you. Smack me if I ever neglect you in shout outs again!! Thank yo so reviewing!!! Yes, Blinks was great, but eh, that's the way it goes. I'm so gald you lik, keep r/r! p.s, I always meant to review, but I just wanted to say Sugar. . Rocked!!!  
  
*Jo- oh, thankyou thankyou thankyou for reading!! Yes, I miss Blinks much, may he rest in peace. He'll be back in another fic, though, so don't worry! Be happy! Enjoy the update!! THANKYOU!!  
  
*Mondie- in thanks for your loverly and MUCH appreciated run on review, I've decided to answer with a run on shout out: *ooh, I hope that window didn't hurt. . we welcome all muses, Jackie in the box. . .mm, them newsie names are hard to come by, and I do Love six strings *hugs charlie much*. . .yup, just like that, he sounds like a little prick already, don't he?. . .ahh, Mushie's six pack. . .I love Skittey. . . Oh he DID!! The nerve. . .heh heh sexy snarls. . . worry not for Skittery, he can handle himself. . .Mush on the other hand. . .OH thanks MUCHLY!! I dunno when you'll get around to reading this chapter, you've got a ways ta go, but thanks SOO much, you're my hero!! *skips of humming wind beneath my wings* lol. : D  
  
*Shortie- I would just like to reiterate the fact that you ROCK beyond the telling of it, my idol and devil boss. You currantly share the *Best loyal reviewer* award, with Doll face, though she'd BETTER be updating, so you're edging her out!! HOO YAH!!! Ooh, Hope you feel better soon!! Ooh, *hides face in shame* could you send me your bio again? It kinda got deleted by my stupidity. Sorry!!! Pwease don't be mad?  
  
*The Omniscient Bookseller- oh, oh, *staggers backwards, speechless with joy, until she trips over the computer stand* ow. Anyhoo, thatnk you SOOOOOOOOO much for the r/r, you are so talented, and I consider and honest opinion from you to be valuable beyond belief!!! Thank you again, this means a lot. I mean it. Keep reading!! *bows down humbely and runs off squeeling with more joy.*  
  
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Racetrack sat immobilized with shock, stunned speechless by the fresh grief of the last few moments, choking back the tears that threatened to cloud his vision. Through the blood thundering in his ears, he heard Skittery, lightly sobbing along side of him. But none of that mattered anymore; not Skittery's pain, not Blink's body, lying cradled in his arms as it's warmth faded away. There was noone else in the world right now; only him. And Baron.  
  
"Ruby." He barely heard the whisper escaping his own lips. "I thought I was doin' da right thing. Dah right thing fah us. Fah you." As he stared down in to the face of the boy who had been his best friend, Racetrack felt his eyes dry and his resolve stiffen. "I was wrong." Gently easing Blink onto the cobblestones, he stood on trembling legs, glancing around for Baron. The bastard was nowheres to be found.  
  
At the same moment he forced himself to move forwards, speed and strength and hatred growing with each step he took, Skittery realized his plans.  
  
"Race!" He called weakly, half running, half crawling towards his friend. "Race, stop. Stop and think." He grabbed at the newsie's arms, tears still streaming from his eyes. "Blink. . . he's gone, Race, he's dead, an' you can't bring 'im back. Just. . ."  
  
"Get OFF!" Race pushed him away, never breaking his stride. He knew where he was headed now; the veils of greif had parted enough so that he could think with some semblance of reason. Baron was headed back to Brooklyn; to the Red Hook. He would sit and brag with his friends over a pint of whisky about how easily Blink had fallen, how quickly he, Baron the Great, had ended his life. 'Enjoy it while you can.' Racetrack thought murderously. 'You won't live much longer yourself.'  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"Baron." Racetrack hardly needed to yell; it seemed Baron had been waiting, perched anxiously on the edge of his seat, for his enemy's arrival. He rose from his stool, motioning for his friends to remain seated as the Manhattenite stalked calmly through the entrance of the bar.  
  
"Easy, fellas." He snickered, hand grasping eagerly for his pistol. "This'll be a breeze." Assuaged by the confidence of their leader, the Brooklyn newsies settled back down, ready to enjoy the show. Behind the counter, a haggard, half-dressed bar tender hissed for the busboy to run and get the bulls. Neither rival noticed. "How's Blinks, by da way, Race? 'e didn't look too good last time I saw 'im."  
  
"Like you don't know."  
  
Baron sniffed. "Ok, Racey, if dat's how you wanna play it. Tell 'im I says hi, when you sees 'im." Racetrack lunged, teeth bared and gun drawn. The stunned Brooklynite barely had time to raise up a defensive arm before they clashed. Though Baron, true to his confident nature, never really panicked until he heard the click of the hammer echoing in his ear.  
  
"Tell 'im yourself." BOOM. Racetrack stood, parylized, as the pistol fell from his limp hand. He barely heard it hit the ground.  
  
"Race!" The stunned newsie jumped a mile as the strong pare of arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Racetrack, snap out of it. . . Oh God." Skittery stopped in horror as he caught sight of Baron, lying still and bloody on the bar room floor. "What did you do?"  
  
"I. . .I. . ." he couldn't bring himself to form the words.  
  
"Nevah mind, Racey, you gotta go, da Bulls is comin'." He shoved his friend towards the doorway, where Mush, summoned by Skittery, was waiting with open arms to pull his friend away. "Get 'im outta heah, Mushy. Go!"  
  
With a quick nod, Mush tugged the shocked boy out the door, eyes still fixed on the body.  
  
"Jesus, Racetrack. What did you DO?" Skittery whispered as the bulls burst in.  
  
"FREEZE! EVERYONE KEEP YOU HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM! NOBODY MOVES!"  
  
  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"What happened, son?" The police Chief placed a comforting but firm hand on Skittery's shoulder. Skittery tried to shrug him off, a reflex learned on the streets, where a touch was almost never friendly, but he couldn't move around the handcuffs without some degree of pain. With a sigh he surrendered.  
  
"It was Baron dat started it." He spoke in a voice dulled with grief. "He came aroun' Manhatten, lookin' fer a fight. Race tried ta stop 'im, he said he didn't want anudder brawl. But, but Baron jus' wouldn't hear it. He charged at Blink, an' when Race tried ta stop dat, he killed him.  
  
"Racetrack?"  
  
"Blink, sir." He shook painfully. "Den Baron an' Race fought, an before I could stop it, he were dead. And Race took off. Dat's all I knows, Sir." The Chief nodded, satisfied.  
  
"He's lyin'!" Glancing over Skittery's hunched shoulder, he saw his men zipping Baron into the ominous black body bag. Crouched over her former friend, Lady stood trembling at Spot's side. The leader of Brooklyn, who'd been tipped off on the fight by one of his newsboys, wrapped his arms consolingly around the proud girl. She wouldn't be quieted. "Can't you see he's lyin'? He's a MANHATTENITE, fah Gawd's sake. He aint tellin' da truth!" She collapsed into angry sobs against her boyfriend's chest.  
  
"Sir, I'm tellin' da truth! Race tried ta stop it. . ."  
  
"This ends now." In two angry strides the Police Chief stood center of the room, his booming voice ending all activity. "Now, we all know that if a street rat wants to dissapear, he will. There's not much we can do to find Racetrack if he doesn't want to be found. But if he ever, EVER comes back to Brooklyn. . ." the man trailed off, though his ominious tone left few doubts in the minds of every newsie present. For Racetrack to return to Brooklyn would be suicide.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
HAHA!! Blink is avenged!! Oh, the plot ever thickens. Alrighty, it's that time again. You know what to do, all you loyal readers in fanfic world. . REEEEEEEEEEVIEWWWWW! (that's review, if you missed the shriek.)  
  
**IMPORTANT** Oh yeah, and I know some of you will be wondering why Race was banished from Brooklyn, if he lives in Manhatten. Well, it's because the Red Hook, where Race killed Baron, is in Brooklyn, being Spot's favorite hang out and all, and so that's where the police will be looking for him. M'eh. 


	11. Act 11

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
*Misprint- ya know what's fuuny? I REALLY wish that I could write like you!! Well, that's not really funny, just ironic. *runs to turn on Alainis Morsette, humming 'isn't it iiiiiiiiironic, don't ya think?'* Mispriiiiiiiint, your reviews make me so HAPPY! :D p.s. love your websight!!  
  
*Doll Face- *glares menacingly* silence. An owl hoots. Crickets chirp. *more silence* SOOOOOOOMEONE isn't updating!!! Hehe, no j/k, you take your time, just don't take too much!;) Thankyou so much, my favorite loyal reviewer. It means so much that you evem read my crappy one chapters, awwwwwwwwww I feel so loved. *smile*  
  
*Falco- Thankyou  
  
*Falco - so much  
  
*Falco - for  
  
*Falco - reviewing!!! Keep r/r, you rock!!  
  
Shortie- oh, you said you had a cold. Or maybe it was someone else, I dunno. I swear I'd loose my cabbie hat if it weren't attatched. So Any whooooooooooo, HOO YAH! The *Fantastic minion/idol/writer/quick-update- goddess award* Sniffle. I feel as if my whole live has been leading up to this moment! Oh, I know I know, I'm stupid. Im a stupid person, but this means I'll make it up to ya by making your part even BIGGER!! MUAHAAHAAHAA. . . *cough* ahem. Ok, so Blink is gone, and Baron got his, and Race is a fool, but here ya go, an update all the same. Enjoy! REVIEW! P.s. I LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOVE your new story! It so rocks!!!  
  
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Ruby leaned over the warped and peeling window sill of the Brooklyn Girls Lodging House, anxiously waiting for nightfall. Already the fiery sun was sinking low over the horizon of run down factories to the west, leaving it's tell-tale trails of blood red clouds dispersed across the darkening skies. The newsgirl remained oblivious to the beauty.  
  
"Comeon, Racetrack." She hissed between clenched teeth. After arranging to meet her brand new husband out on the fire escape at the first signs of night, she'd rushed home in a state of ecstacy, counting down the minutes until the first stars appeared in the sky. 'He should be here soon.' She practically jumped out of her skin at the thoughts of happily ever after wedded bliss zooming through her mind at a million miles an hour.  
  
"RUBY! RUBY!" she turned as Nanny came barreling in, then slowed to a brisk walk, nodding to the lingering group of newsgirls casting suspicious glares her way. "Ruby, he's dead!" The sweating young woman dropped her voice to a whisper as she approached. "he's dead, fah gawd's sake!"  
  
"Dead?" She gripped the window sill tighter to gain purchase as the world spun beneath her feet. Racetrack, her husband? She's barely gotten use to the word, and now he was dead?  
  
"And Racetrack, who'd have thought?  
  
"Wait. . .wait." She wasn't ready, she hadn't been expecting this. "Dat aint possible. Tell me it aint."  
  
"It IS!" Nan glanced around sheepishly and regained control of her voice. "I saw it meself! Well, no, I didn't see it. But Lady did!"  
  
"Lady?" This wasn't making any sence.  
  
"Oh, Baron, 'e wasn't such a bad guy after all! Soah, 'e was a little bit of a prick, and 'e weren't much ta look at, but he was a good guy!"  
  
"WHAT?" It was Ruby's turn to lower her voice as the crowd began to stir warily. "Both of 'em, Baron and Race? Der both dead?"  
  
"Baron's dead, an' Race is on da lamb! 'E had ta run away after 'e killed Baron!"  
  
"Racetrack did what? He. . .he killed Baron? But, how could'e, he was so good!"  
  
"Ahh, jus' like me ol' mudder said, nevah trust a man. Oh, where's me whisky?" She whiped a puggy hand across her glistening forhead, gazing around in search of a bottle. "I need a drink. I can't believe Race could be such a. . ."  
  
"Nanny, don't!" She cried, regaining her composure. Ofcourse, this was all a misunderstanding. Racetrack would have a perfectly good explanation, when she saw him. "I should nevah have doubted 'im, Race is a good guy. He's one of da good ones."  
  
"But he killed Baron!"  
  
"But he's me husband." Ruby shook her head and whiped the tears from her eyes. "He must a had a good reason. I know Race wouldn't hoit noone widout a reason. Baron was prolly about ta kill him. At least Racetrack's alive." She turned to face the fire escape, gratitude overbearing her grief. "Racetrack's alive, and dat's all dat matters."  
  
Nanny shrugged, as always, willing to think whichever way she was told. If Ruby was happy, well, that was good enough for her. "Is there anythin' I could do?"  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"Dis can't be happening." Race shook his head numbly as Mush helped bandage the cuts on his side. Kloppman ceased pacing nervously in the background and looked over. "Whadya mean, I can't go back to Brooklyn?"  
  
"It's better then death, isn't it." The old man peered anxiously out the dusk streaked windows of his brother' church, the last place left to go. The bulls would be searching for Racetrack; by now they were sure to have discovered the Lodging House. Even this small haven wouldn't be safe for long.  
  
Racetrack sniffed. "I guess dat's a matter of opinion. Me, I'd take death."  
  
Kloppman shook his head. "Don't talk like that. Believe it or not, there is a world outside Manhatten. It's a pretty big one, too."  
  
"There aint no world outside Manhatten. Dis is where I lived all me life, as long as I could remember. Dis is where all me bruddas are. Where Ruby is. . . What am I gonna do, Kloppman?"  
  
"You're not dead, Racetrack. Just. . .expelled."  
  
"Yeah. Same t'ing." Kloppman sighed and looked the desparate young man up and down.  
  
"You're crazy, Racetrack." Indignant, the newsie leaped to his feet, grimacing as he strained his wounds.  
  
"You got no idea, Kloppman! If you was my age, and you loved a goil as much as I do. ." He trailed off as an ominous knock shook the barred, stained-glass doors. The three stopped cold, paralyzed with fear, waiting helplessly for the Bulls to burst in and grab Racetrack at any moment.  
  
"Racetrack, come on." Mush hissed, pulling is dazed friend by the arm to hide in the confessional. With a quick glance to make sure the two were out of sight, and after adjusting his spectacles, Kloppman strode towards the door and pulled it open with all the confidence he could muster.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
I know, I know it's short. But what can I say, I was getting update- anxiety. So here ya go! Now stop reading my ramble and go review. What did I just say? REVIEW!!! 


	12. Act 12

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
Shortie- ooooooooooooooh, I see, well then I hope you feel warmer. No, I know I know, I don't have to tell my loyal reviewer awardee to review. Boy, is my face red. Yes, everybody together. . .awwwwwwwww, Racey and Ruby, so sweet. I DON'T WANT TO DO IT! Yes, I really want to rewrite it, but I think I've degraded Shakespeare enough already, I can't rub salt in the wound. Oh well, here we go, enjoy! UPDATE SOON!  
  
Morning Dew- Muahahaa! I am the evil master mind of cliff hangers, all readers bow before me! MUAHAHAHA *cough ahem cough* Any hoo, heres an update, hope you like it! Yeah, if their gonna bite the dust in the end, I have to give them their moment of cuteness. Sigh.  
  
Jo- NOOOOOOOOO! Not the evil hyde version! *covers head in a desperate attempt to escape death, then realizes noones actually there. Ah, me.* Here! Here ya go! An update! Thanks for the awesome review, so nice, and enjoy!  
  
Misprint- boy you're not kidding, I was reading along, realizing if I did the whole scene you'd all be bored to tears, and the ones who ALREADY were would be. . .even border. Can you be border? Hmm, lifes eternal questions. Hmm, Racey riding a lamb, it has possibilities. . .*gets a smack upside the head from Race!Muse* yes, Racetrack, the face that sold a thousand papes, he is SO cute. Wait for it. . .wait for it. . .she's coming. Oh, thankyou SOOOO much, I know that the meaning was there, you ahhs said it all. Kepp reviewing!  
  
Dollface- AWWW, Doll Face, you risk sleep deprivation for me? I'm truly touched. Oh yay, it made you happier! Don't be sad, get glad! Turn that frown upside down! Cause theres more RACE AND RUBY CUTENESS, coming soon! Oh, thanks for the always sweet reviews, keep reading! Good stuff comin up!  
  
Omniscient- oh, that's just fine, even short Omnireviews are appreciated beyond the telling of it. A cactus? Oh, I once had a cactus, but I killed it. Didn't even know the stupid things could die. *sigh* yeah thanks! *eats her applesauce.* I know what you mean, oddly enough, and it makes me happy cos that what I was hoping for. I've had enough of Santa Kloppman. THANKS AGAIN KEPP READING!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Kloppman dragged a wrinkled hand across his brow, sighing with all consuming releif at the spectacle before him. Instead of the Bulls, armed to the teeth with night sticks and search warrants, Nanny stood, hunched and dripping in the slight mist that leaked from a cloudy night sky.  
  
"Could I come in, Mistah?" her shrill voice quivered in the stiff breeze. "I got news from Ruby."  
  
"Yes, yes, ofcourse girl. Come in." Feeling his racing pulse return to normal, the old man stepped aside as Nan blustered into the dimmly lit church, scanning every cast shadow, peering into every darkened cornor.  
  
"Where is 'e? Wheres dat bum Racetrack?" From his vantage point in the confessional, Race's heart leapt at the familiar, grating voice. Swiftly he shrugged out of Mush's grip and burst through the doorway in a scramble of hurried footsteps.  
  
"Where is she? What did she tell youse? What does she want?" The boy slid across the polished marble floors, clumsily skidding to a stop in front of the alarmed messanger. Though he spoke quietly, his coffee brown eyes blazed with impatience and fear. It was enough to break Nanny's heart.  
  
"Well. . ."  
  
"AH, whats da point!" he cried, tumbling into an undignified heap on the cold floors with a desparate sigh. "Ya don't even have ta say it. She don't want me anymore, do she?"  
  
"umm. . ."  
  
"That's it, aint it! Gawd, just kill me now!"  
  
"Racetrack, stop this at once!" Kloppman scolded, roughly hauling the newsie up by the collar of his shirt. Through tears of frustration, Race's jaw dropped in amazement. "You're acting like a little girl who's soiled her pants. Be a man, for once!" He shook his head. "Do you know how lucky you are, boy?"  
  
"Lucky? LUCKY? I might as well be dead, I'se screwed up so bad." Still sniffling, Race reached to tug the bloodied gun from it's place at his side, wincing as the hasty movement jerked his battered chest. Before his fingers could clasped the handle, Kloppman cuffed him upside the head in exasperation.  
  
"Racetrack, CHEESE IT! For the love of God, you can't even see! You and Ruby are both still alive, Baron is gone, and nothing is set in stone! The Chief might change his mind after all." Racetrack looked up, a glimmer of hope brightning his face and twinkling in his desparate eyes for the first time that night.  
  
"You t'ink?"  
  
The care taker's voice softened, as he spoke with ten times more conviction then her felt, battling the doubts that crept across his mind. "Sure. Now, go on, go see Ruby. But be carefull!" As Race turned to go, Kloppman reached out for the boy he'd loved like a son all of his life, one last time. "Be careful, Racetrack. You should be gone before dawn; the Bulls will be out in full force then. You have friends in Queens, don't you?" the newsie nodded impatiently. "Good then, you'll stay there untill we can get all this cleared up. We'll rally all the Newsies together, talk with the Chief, and bring you back to Manhatten."  
  
"Thanks, Kloppman." Racetrack leaned in for a hug, then thought better of it, wincing at the pain of the quick movement. Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, he shook the old man's warped and spotted hand instead.  
  
"Just keep your chin up Race." With a final look of thanks, the boy hurried for the door, with Nanny and a confused Mush trailing after him.  
  
"Oy, Racey, wait up!"  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Frenchy reclined against the crowded bar with all the grace and dignity of a parisien noblemen, back strait, head tall, and handsome fade glowing with the confidence of a man who has the world on a string. Even in his slightly drunken state he shone brighter then every other ragga muffin newsie in the place; it was his style to do so. It was one of the things Spot admired most about him, and at the same time, despised.  
  
"French, lemme tell youse, dis aint been a good weak." Spot sighed disparingly, feeling the burden of the world press against his slumped shoulders as he took a long, healthy swig. "Foist dis new rumble in newsie square, den Baron. . . he was me second, you know."  
  
"I know, Spot."  
  
"Yup." The inebriated Brooklyn head of Brooklyn licked the inside of his shot glass, gathering every drop of saving liquid. 'Gawd, it's hot in here' he thought. "Times like dese, ya don't know who ta trust if ya don't have a Second. An' now dat Barty's gone. ."  
  
"Ya mean Baron?"  
  
Spot winced. "Don't interupt, kid. As I was sayin'. . .what was I sayin'?" he shook his head and raised a finger to summon the bartender, plunking down more of the days meager earnings for another shot.  
  
"You was sayin' you aint got noone ta trust."  
  
"Ah, dat's right, I was. Now I'm gonna ask you somethin', and I knows I'm gonna get a strait answer, cause you wouldn't lie ta me, would youse?" Even drunk off his chair, the boy managed to look deathly serious. Frenchy swallowed hard.  
  
"No, I wouldn't, boss." Spot thought for a moment, before smiling amiably.  
  
"No, I don't suppose you would. You're too smart a guy for dat. So tell me, Frenchy, was you really serious when you asked fah me permission ta go for Ruby?"  
  
Frenchy nodded, a hungry look in his shining, bottle green eyes. "Damn strait I was."  
  
"Whassat?"  
  
"Uh. . . yes chief, I was."  
  
His leader nodded. "Good. Den here's da deal." All the whisky and infamy in the world couldn't hide the sadness that crept into Spot's voice, clouding his features. It felt like the clock was ticking, and e could no longer ignore it. "I need a man ta trust, an' I need a man ta look aftah me boys. Me familly. Times like these, wid my rivalry wid Jacky-boy bein' what it is, ya never know what can happen. So, I'm gonna promise you Ruby." He held up one hand, stopping Frenchy from gushing his thanks. "I think she'll listen ta me - no, I know she will. So dat's da deal. You get Ruby fah your goil, you could even marry 'er. I could make dat happen, ya know. All you gotta do is keep up your end of da bargain, an' watch out for 'er. Understand?"  
  
Frenchy nodded, running a hand through his gleaming black mane in wild excitement. Well, as wild an excitement as Frenchy ever expressed, and that was saying something.  
  
"You got yourself a deal, boss."  
  
Spot nodded , satisfied, and reached for another round.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Ahh, the long awaited next chapter, and I do mean long. What's gonna happen next? It's driving you MAD, isn't it? No? Well, stay tuned anyways! Coming next. . . the LOVE scene, MUAHAHAHA!!!! REVIEW!! 


	13. Act 13

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
*Morning Dew- Hoo Yah!! Yup, heres another one. I keep poppin' em out like daisies, ta quote a certain Race Track. Yes, poor poor Racey, and it only goes down hill. Except for the LoVe scene! Hope its everything you expected, read and enjoy and REVIEW!  
  
*Doll Face- Don't worry, it all works itself out in the end. Oh wait. It doesn't. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! Woo hoo, I'm glad ya like it, I though it reeked of dung, but that's just me. And that's my general opinion about my writing. So sigh. Any ways though, no you cant, but it's all right, I forgive. I'm a lover, not a fighter. You take you sweet time *hah sweet! One sweet day!* ba dum bum.  
  
*Misprint- People come and go so quickly around here. Huh. ANY hoo, yes, I am ashamed, I've turned Spot into a Lush. But, but he's still a DANGEROUS lush, see? So it's ok. Oh Gorsh, thanks so much! That is like the best compliment ever, since I usually fear I go so out of character. THANKYOU!! Hah, soiled. Funeeeeeeee. Thanks for the review! Long isn't ALWAYS better (though I do enjoy your run ons, such character!)  
  
*Deejay Superstar- Thankyou  
  
*Deejay Superstar-SOOOOOOOOOOOOO Much  
  
*Deejay Superstar- for  
  
*Deejay Superstar-REVIEWING!! Woohoo, four in one go, I am impressed and honored beyond belief. Keep reading, and update trouble tomorrow! GO!  
  
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Ruby pressed a hand to her flushed cheek, soaked with hours upon hours worth of tears. Swollowing a shuttering gasp, she painfully stifled her sobs, muffled by the sagging fabric of a stained pillow. It would do no good to have her room mates wake up and find her crying. Though she supposed she could chalk it all up to Baron's death, there would still be questions to answer, and sympathetic eyes to avoid. And God knows she couldn't handle that without breaking.  
  
She whiped the last droplets from her eyelashes and rolled to face the window. The moon, hidden behind a veil of rain-soaked clouds, cast a pale glow over the fire escape, standing as a silent reminder to what she had lost. All of a sudden, she realized there was something moving out there. A shadow? No, it was too big, and too solid for a shadow. A figure darted infront of the glass, illuminated by the moonlight shining off a crop of raven black hair. . .  
  
"Race?" She hardly dared to hope. Gently, the girl lowered herself to the creaking wooden floor boards, heart rising in her throat with each careful step. She crept across the room, deaf to the thundering snores of the tenants as she reached the window and peered cautiously into the darkness. From it's depths, a pair of velvety, sable eyes stared back at her.  
  
"Racetrack!" She whispered and pressed a hand to the freezing glass. From the other side, he smiled warmly and placed his palm over hers. The glass seemed to thaw beneath his stretched fingers. Tears stung both the children's eyes, as with a flick of his head, he gestured towards the roof, and after a last loving glance, dissapeared.  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Racetrack shrugged his arms inside the threadbare shirt, hugging his frozen chest as lazy, fat droplets of rain in icy bullets down his back. From where he stood, the city of Brooklyn lay quiet before him; too quiet after the disasters of the past few hours.  
  
"Are you up heah, Race?" smiling, he turned to his bride as a wide grin split her shining face.  
  
"Hell of a day we's had, ey?" She laughed and threw herself against him, wanting nothing more then to burry herself in his familiar arms. The two stood entangled for a long moment, still as death.  
  
"mm guff hmmah!" She mumbled against his shoulder.  
  
"Whats dat?"  
  
"I said," she raised her eyes to meet his. "whada we do now?"  
  
"Well. . ." he gulped nervously, trying desperately to remember the speech he'd practiced thousands of times over on the long walk to Brooklyn. "It is our weddin' night, you knows."  
  
"Uh huh. OH." Her eyes widened in shock. "Well, have you evah. . ."  
  
"Has I evah . . ."  
  
"You know." With a quick glance around she dropped her voice to an anxious whisper, despite the fact that they stood alone. "Have you evah, done it?"  
  
"OH." The boy shuffled uncomfortabley, glancing desparately down at his scuffed shoes. "Yeah, yeah. A couple a times." So he was lying a bit, but that couldn't be helped. Truth was, the real numbers would be staggering to a girl like Ruby. Race cleared his throat. "And, uh, has you evah. . ."  
  
"No." Ruby mumered hastily. "No, not yet."  
  
"Ah hah. Well," he desparately scanned his brain for something clever to say. "Umm. ." Alright, he'd settle for anything to say.  
  
Anything at all.  
  
It didn't even have to sound good, just as long as he said something.  
  
Luckily, he never had to utter a word, as Ruby pressed her trembling lips against his at that very moment. Arms entwined and pulses racing, the two sank gently to the roof. Gently, she helped him out of his shirt, completely whiping the freezing cold tar beneath him from his mind. Above their heads, the stars glittered.  
  
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AWWWWW. *throws nasty glance at Race!Muse, hooting and hollering in the background* I know, it was short, but this is PG13 people, we can't have those shenanigans. This isn't the love shack. Enjoy, and REVIEW! 


	14. Act 14

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
*Misprint- HOO YAH! AWW, Missy, can I call ya missy? No? ok then, Misprint, your such and awesome writer AND an awesome reviewer, the best evah!! Not only do you faithfully reivew this crazy ramble I call SCL, you review what I fondly refer to as my crappy-one-chappies. Yeah! But back to this review, YAY I'm glad you liked! Yes, I know what you mean, it was sappy in a fuzzy sort of way, and I do take that as a compliment so don't you fret. That's the goal, you see. Yes, So cute, I don't wanna do it, but it must be done. Until then enjoy and REVIEW! ;)  
  
*Doll Face- Doll Face, I'm so glad you like my crappy-one-chappy, as I've cleverly decided to name that genre. I love that song too, plus I was very amused by your use of the word desyphere. I know what you mean, and am impressed by your diction at the same time. Oh, understood understood, ocourse, just don't let it happen again! *smile*  
  
*Omniscient- woo hoo!! another omniscient review, how I live for these. . ahh, any way, glad you liked it! Yes, Kloppman, my favorite non - santa clausy old man, and Race, sweet Race. I promise after Ruby's through with him, I'll direct him your way. . .muahaha.  
  
*Deejay Supastar- Congrats! You made it! I'm impressed, if I were reading me I would have quit long ago. Hmm, yes a sweaty, handcuffed Skittery. . . you cast such an interestin yet refreshingly beautiful light on things. *Smiles and sinks into thought* Ahh, youre awesome as always, and keep reviewing, don't stop now! And update both stories  
  
Rumor- yeah, thank you SOOO much for the review, I always love a good honest review. I do worry that I'm scandalizing the story from time to time, but hey, who's gonna tell. Yes, Blinks death was so sad, but I'm glad you enjoyed it, well, you know what I mean. Oh good, I always try to stay true to the characters, but I do worry that I'm launching off into the bizzaro world every time I write them , so thanks a lot for the ego boost. Keep reading, it means a lot to me!  
  
Shortie- Wheee! Yes, Race is a man whore, but he's my man whore dammnit! And I love the fellow for it. *Smiles at race!muse, who looks slightly miffed, to tell the truth. * Ahh, thank you thank you, another BEEEAUTIFUL review, that's why you're my devil! and much appreciated! Hope the test went well!  
  
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"Mornin, sunshine." Ruby whiped an arm across her eyes, still clouded by the mists of sleep, and gazed at her husband as he stood smiling down on her, rushing to pull his drawers on.  
  
"Where are you goin'?" Racetrack knelt down beside the girl to retrieve his pants, brushing a hand through her tangled, bed swept hair in passing.  
  
"It's mornin'. I'm supposed ta be gone by now on me way ta Queens, but it appeahs I ovah slept."  
  
Playfully she shook her head. "No, you didn't. It aint even dawn yet."  
  
"Is dat so?" he laughed gently.  
  
"Course it is. Look, it's still dark." Racetrack glanced up into the sunstreaked, rosy clouds lacing the cornflower blue sky, growing lighter by the minute.  
  
"Sorry, baby, I gotta be on me way 'fore da coppers catch me." He shrugged apologetically and reached for his wrinkled shirt, only to find it held aloft above Ruby's sheet-draped form.  
  
"Come on, Racey, jus' stay heah for a little while. Jus' stay heah forevah." The newsie sighed in mock resignation, plopping down once more beside his love.  
  
"Eh, who am I ta argue wid logic like dat. If you say it aint day," He spread his arms wide, a sly grin crossing his features, bright and rosy in the early morning chill, "den I aint fool enough ta disagree." Good- naturedly, he draped himself gently across Ruby, leaning in for another go. Beneath his compact frame, she stirred reluctantly.  
  
"Nah, you're right. It's daylight. You gotta go before da bulls find youse." Sighing, she pressed his ragged shirt against his stomach, ushering her husband to his feet.  
  
"Oh, come on, you gonna leave a boy hangin' like dat?"  
  
"Put ya shirt on, Race."  
  
"Dat's cold, Ruby,real. . ." He paused mid-robing, the cheeky grin fading rapidly. Ruby cocked her head, puzzled until she heard the heavy footfalls echoing off the iron fire escape. "You locked da door, didn't youse?"  
  
"Locked the door?" She groaned weakly. Just then, the rusted rooftop door swung wide on it's squeaky hinges, to the dismay of both undressed parties.  
  
There stood Nanny, huffing and puffing noisy breaths of exersion in a haze of fog that curled upwards to the heavens. "Dere you is, Ruby! I been lookin for you since da wake up call sounded. . ." She broke off, looking back and forth between Racetrack and Ruby. "Well well well, what have we heah." Finally remembering himself, the boy threw on his shirt in a flurry of hasty buttoning, though not before an admiring look from Nanny chilled him to the bone.  
  
"Nan, whats da mattah?" Ruby stepped forwards, breaking the awkward silence.  
  
"Hmm? Oh-" The squat young newgirl reluctantly tore her eyes away. "Oh, yeah! I fahgot ta tell youse, Lady's down in da bunkroom waitin' ta have a talk wid youse, and if you don't get in dere right now. . ."  
  
"Oh, gawd damn it!" Hastily, Ruby grabbed Racetrack by the arm, tripping over a jumble of tangled and twisted bedsheets as she half rushed, half dragged him towards the door way. "Damn it all, Race, you gotta go!"  
  
"But. . ."  
  
"If dey catch you up heah, youse a dead man!"  
  
"Ruby. . ."  
  
"What?" She breathed distractedly, still pulling her husband towards the stairs. His velvety brown eyes, wide with expectation, stared pleadingly into hers.  
  
"Don't I get a kiss goodbye?"  
  
"No! Well. . ." On second thought. She leaned in, meeting his lips eagerly with her own, sinking deeper and deeper into the kiss until. . .  
  
"Oh, for da love a Brooklyn, YOU TWO!" Nanny cried in exasperation, tugging Racetrack with all the force she could manage, hampered more then slightly by the extra pounds. Just then, the roof door swung open yet again, as she reached for the handle. It was hard to say who was the most shocked; Lady, who found herself hovering inches away from the face of the very girl she'd been searching for, swathed only in a light blanket; Racetrack, who fully expected the Bulls to come bearing down on his unprotected head with clubs raised, or Ruby, who nearly jumped out of her skin as her husband dived behind her, ducking his body between her legs for shelter. Well, in truth, Ruby was likely the most shocked.  
  
"Uh, Lady, what a nice surprise!"  
  
"Yeah, uh, how nice." The Newsgirl, fully polished and primped even at this early hour, glanced around suspiciously. "What are you. . ."  
  
"I needed fresh air." She swollowed painfully, sure that the guilt was stamped across her forehead. Luckily, Lady was, and always had been, far too enamored with herself to spend much time contemplating others. She merely shrugged, ready to except the excuse if it meant they could leave this horrid, drafty roof top.  
  
"Well, Come on den, I want a woid wid youse." Lady tugged her by the arm. As the heavy metal door fell shut behind her, she turned for one last glimpse of Racetrack. Even as he mouthed ' I love you' in the distance, a dark, foreboding chill crept down her spine. Chalking it up to nerves, she shook it off, looking forward to the time when they could be together, forever, at last.Bottom of Form [pic]Bottom of Form  
  
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Whoo Eee. And one week and two icestorms later, the next chapter is done. Thanks for the read! So why stop now? Review! Tell me if you like it, hate it, or you know, not so much. Ehh, go ahead. REVIEW! 


	15. Act 15

Top of Form Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
I'm real sorry about the abridged shout outs this time around, folks. . . there were so many of you blessed people!  
  
SparksdaNewsie- Oh, jeeze, I'm flattered and impressed! I would've quit after 15 minutes of reading me! Thanks so much, and keep up with the ramblings!  
  
Doll Face- ah yes, I always appreciated good vocab use. Heck, if you thought that was sad. .. maybe this is a bad chapter to read. Ah well, read it anyways, I want your reviews. I'm just greedy like that. So Enjoy, ol' buddy!  
  
Morning Dew- You're back! Yeah, I was startin' to miss you. Oh, oh jeeze, thanks so much! You rock beyond the telling of it, I swear. Oh yes, and awesome job on your new story, I loved it and one day I'll get around to reviewing. Here ya go!  
  
Omniscient- *claps hands gleefully* an omnireview! An OMNIREVIEW! The best kind. Oh, I'm glad you think so, sometimes it's hard for me to tell if it's funny or . . . well, not funny. So this is a very good thing. Yes, that WOULD have been a sight to see. Ahh, bliss. Yes more wacky foreshadowing, I'm just a foreshadowing fool. Enjoy your dinner, and REVIEW!  
  
Shortie- yes, yes, another chapter, be it a good thing or a bad thing. Oh, I live for reviews from my idolee! Oh, *wince* testing, yes that's a bugger. Oh, I love Race n Ruby, I really do. And I'm so tempted to listen to you when you beg me not to kill em. Sigh. Hehe, what are blueballs? It sounds funny. Well ofcourse she has a crush,who doesn't? *winks suggestively at a very disturbed little Race!muse* kill Lady? Well, she gets better, for a little while anyways, so I'll stick her out. Ok, I'll update if you do, and yes, give Baron a bitch-slap for me, will ya?  
  
Misprint - missy, hmm a ferry ey ? the stories you tell. . . oh ofcourse, I mean who wouldn't withhold clothing. I'm with holding Race!muse's clothing right now, but that's a story for another day. Oh , little bugger, he stole them back. Drats. Oh, yes you vancouverites, lucky people. I'm embarassed, but it took me a while to remember where that was. Ahh well, thanks fr the adulation, now go update!  
  
Rumor- yeah, I know what you mean, I read the script a few times, and I started getting all the ironies and perverted little jokes and the relationship stuff. .. my god the relationship stuff. It's a good read, Shakespeare. Oh, thank! Yes, I love that look. ..ah that's the part, right there! Thanks for the awesome review, keep em up! They're inspiring!  
  
Jo- Oh, gosh jo, this is so the sweetest review I've ever read! I LOVLE you muchly! Oh, thankyou so much, I don't deserve it. And now I can't see the computer screen over my rapidly inflating ego.. This means so much to me, keep reading! *hug*  
  
Deejay Supastar- oh, yes, an update. As in yesterday. I'm glad ya like it, keep reading!  
  
Falco Conlon- Falco, you are THE most random reviewer I've ever met, and I luv ya for it! Ps thanks for feeding race!muse, he was getting hungry!  
  
Oh yes, WARNING: there is one naughty word, but it was nessesary. Oh the horror. Just avert your eyes if it offends you.  
  
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"Lady, slow down! What's dis all about?" Ruby clutched the blanket tighter as she stumbled down the staircase, her arm grasped tightly in Lady's picturesque hand. Huffing and puffing, she was glad for the rest as the girl ground to a stop, turning towards her with a self-satisfied grin.  
  
"It's good news, Ruby!" She paused, noticing as Ruby's eyes flickered once again towards the rooftop. "Whatsa matta?"  
  
"Hmm? Nothin, why?" Ruby forced a grin that melted as Lady awkwardly patted her shoulder. Odd, Lady wasn't usually this perseptive.  
  
"I know, it's Baron, aint it. Youse still upset about dat hole t'ing, aint you?" The young girl shrugged, afraid to give herself away again. "Eh, we can't do nothin' for poor ol' Baron, all we can do is make da best of da situation, right?" Ruby tensed, sencing a train wreck coming. "It's a shame, an' whats worse is dat bum Racetrack's still alive an' kicken."  
  
"Oh, right. I'd . . .I'd love ta get him alone in a room fah twen'y minutes. I tell ya dere's a few things I'd like ta do to him." Lady nodded, oblivious, and lurched forwards down the staircase once more, dragging Ruby behind her.  
  
"Exactly. But you know what dey say, about silver linings an such."  
  
"No, what do dey say?"  
  
After a moment of careful consideration, not an easy thing for Lady to manage, she shrugged. "I dunno, dey say somethin'. But dat aint da point. Da point is, youse real lucky ta have a good friend like Spot ta look aftah you."  
  
Ruby frowned, puzzled by the turn in conversation. "Yeah, Spot knows I love im. He's like me big brudder. But what's dat got ta do wid it?"  
  
Once more, Lady stopped and turned mid step, flashing a radiant grin. "It's all settled. Dis Thursday, we's meetin' Frenchy at da church, ta get you hitched!"  
  
"HITCHED!" Lady's jaw dropped at Ruby's crestfallen shriek. "I swear ta Gawd, I AINT getting' hitched!"  
  
"But. . .b-but why?" She spluttered, stripped of her normal grace and composure.  
  
"I. . .I just don't wanna. An if I did, it'd sooner be Racetrack den Frenchy!" Lady shook her head disparingly.  
  
"Fine, tell it ta Spot. Bettah you den me, dat's all I gotta say."  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
He was drunk. It was obvious by the sour stench of his breath, the way he swayed in place, the shift of his cobalt-gray eyes. It was obvious, but then again, it wasn't unusual. Spot was a fan of the bottle; this was common knowledge.  
  
"'eya Ruby, hows it rollin?" he slurred. This WAS unusual - Spot was usually a very subtle drunk. 'He must be more smashed then normal', she reflected.  
  
"It's goin' ok, Spot." Ruby tried staring him in the eye, which was difficult because he didn't seem to be focusing well, so as not to betray her nervousness. Spot wouldn't be that upset, she reasoned. She'd just explain calmly, before he heard of her decision from anyone else.  
  
"She don't wanna marry Frenchy, Spot. I tried ta talk her inta it, but she jus' won't listen." Lady blurted to Ruby's dismay. Alright, onto plan B.  
  
"She. . .she don't wanna marry 'im?" Ruby shuddered at the deathly calm in Spot's voice as he turned his gaze to her. "You don't want Frenchy? What he aint good enough fah you?"  
  
"Spot. . .dat aint it. . ." she floundered as he approached her, growing more enraged with every staggered step.  
  
"So yoah too good fah Frenchy. Does dat mean yoah too good fah any newsie? Too good fah me?"  
  
"No - " grasping Ruby's thin shoulders, he slammed her into the unforgiving wall, bellowing as he head smacked against the bricks with a painful thud.  
  
"Spot. . .are you crazy or somethin'?" Lady stepped forward in a rare show of protectiveness, egged on by a hovering Nanny, and tugged roughly at his arm. With out flinching, the drunk Brooklyn leader swatted his girlfriend aside, hardly noticing as she hit the floor.  
  
"Your tellin' me dat me an my friends is too good for da liks a you, you spoiled li'l BRAT!"  
  
"Leaver her alone!" Nanny rushed forwards to peel Spot off of a weeping Ruby. Surprisingly, he let himself be pushed away, though his cold eyes neve left the girl as she cowered besides her friend.  
  
"Fine den." He spat venomously. "Do whatevah da Hell you want. But if you insult my friends, you insult me. So if you t'ink your too good fah Frenchy, den get out." Ruby gazed at him through her tears, shocked. "Get outta Brooklyn. I don't care where you go, or what you eat, or who you fuck. Just don't evah let me see you again." With a last contempuous glare, he turned and stalked out, slamming the door on the three shell- shocked girls behind him.  
  
In the painful silence that followed, Ruby was the first to regain her voice. "Lady . . ." she whimpered, gazing desparately towards the girl in an undignified sprawl on the floor. "Lady, please. Get him ta change his mind. . .please. . ." she trailed off at the hard expression on Lady's reddened race.  
  
"No. I'm outta this." Gathering herself up slowly, Lady regained her feet and limped nonchalantly towards the door. "Find someone else ta fight your battles."  
  
Tearfully, Ruby turned towards her one true friend, and her last hope. "Nanny, what do I do? I don't know what ta do!"  
  
Sighing in her motherly fassion, Nanny caressed the girl soothingly. "Maybe. . . maybe it's all for dah best, sweety." And with that, she followed her idol out of the room, leaving Ruby stunned into silence.  
  
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Oh, dear, that was one unhappy chappy. Well, review anyay, I'm off to eat loads of chocolate. 


	16. Act 16

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
*Shortie- OH that's blueballs!!! Boy is my face red. hah hah, that is funny from my pov, and it's alright, the lengthy desciption was appreciated. Oh good, no more Baron, though it's too bad, cause I had somethingg special for him *shrugs and shoes away a greatly angered Blink, back from the dead!* He'll get his chance some other time I espect. Heh, yep my one nauty word, boy do I like to live on the wild side. .. hah Spotty with a foam glove, oh the indignity. . . oh thankyou so much! Yes it is I, the master of cliff hangers. . .all bow before me! *frowns dissapointedly when NOBODY bows.* eh, c'est la vie.  
  
*Jo- ah, decisions decisions. Oh, jo, I so don't deserve a reviewer like you! You ROCK!!! I hope I can pull it off. . .though we might be in for a few shall we say. . .plot twists? Near the end. But I'm not saying another word! Shh, keep the exclusive quiet, okies? For your eyes only! ;D Thanks!  
  
*Deejay Supastar- Oh yes, It's me, UPDATE GIRL! Bringing you semi-quality updates at the speed of light!  
  
*Omni- wow, have you noticed your name keeps getting shorter and shorter as I get lazier and lazier? So sad. Any whoo, yes chocolate. Cause chocolate has endorphins, and endorphins make you happy, and when you're happy you don't abuse your characters as much. Obviously didn't work well though. . .keep reading, despite the big tissue-palooza!  
  
*Falco Conlon- Oh, no don't worry! *picks up Spot and dusts him off vigorously, to Spot's dismay and Crunch's delight* He's not a bad guy, just a big ol' lush. He'll get better. Thanks for the reivew! Keep on trucking!  
  
*Rumor- ok , sure, Selma Hayek, with out the pig tails and that. . .weird pole thing. . . Any whoo, yes inspiring. I said it, and I meant it. Hehe, really? I've never had my warnings praised before, thanks! Yes, Lady does have a short memory. But it's not cause she loves Baron any less, she's just grown to love herself more. Not a good thing.  
  
*SparksdaNewsie- I know, I know, its too short. My love of writing is sadly overpowered by my love of laziness. But there will be more, worry not. STORIES! MORE SPARKS STORIES! YIPEE! Ooh, do update. Hmm, I think I'll take that in a Skittery, please. * also stuffs a candy-coated Race in her pocket as she meanders out innocently* keep reviewing!!!  
  
*Misprint- nyuk nyuk nyuk, I know watcha mean, Ruby. Theres a few things I'd like ta do as well. . . hee - ba ha ha is such a funny laugh. . . oh yes don't worry, Spot isn't really a total bastard. He's just drunk. Very very drunk, very very often. But he gets redeemed, worry not!. . .yes, you never can trust the plump and cute ones, they'll turn on you like THAT *smacks hands together, startleing a sleeping Race!muse awake as he falls out of his computer chair.* oops, poor little bugger. Ah, thanks you so much, it means a lot that you stick with it even through those little angsty parts. . .wish I could tell you it only gets better from here, but. . .  
  
*Doll Face- Yes, when I say sad I mean sad, and don't you doubt it! Oh, worry not, see Spot's REALLY not that mean. Really. He was just. . .on the drunker side of very drunk. Not a pleasant lush, you see. But he gets better. . .wait for it. . .keep waiting. . . Oh good, updates! *does the celebretory update dance, dragging a glowering Race!muse to his feet* keep reading!!!!  
  
Also, gotta thank all the people who reviewed my last bitter, crappy-one- chappie. Ok, that said, I'm tired of writing angst. Angst makes me sad. I prefer to be happy. Ergo, for my next c-o-c, I promise fluff and fun! Just. . . not right now.  
  
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It was funny, Kloppman reflected, how fate seemed to be working so hard against them. First the death of Blink, then Baron's murder, Racetrack's expulsion from Brooklyn, and just when he'd thought the situation couldn't get any lower, behold - here was a lower place.  
  
"Mm, I- I. . .I don't know, my boy. Thursday is, well. . .it's mighty soon." Kloppman's brother spoke in a trembling voice, clutching the trusted bible to his heart.  
  
"I know dat, sir, but dat's when Spot. . .er. . .dat's when me friend wants da weddin', an I'm da last person ta make Spot angry by arguing." Vaguely wondering if it was an even greater sin to eavesdrop in church then it would be in the outside world, The owner of the Lodging house crept along the pews until every word exchanged between the old priest and the young newsie was clear at day.  
  
"But, uh, it is my knowledge that the girl you. . .intend to wed, isn't aware of the arrangement. Atleast, that's what I'm told."  
  
"Well, sir, dese is tough times, so we haven't really had a moment to. . . discuss it. But dat's why we's in a rush, you see, desparate times call fah desparate measures, an all dat." Frenchy shrugged, figiting nervously under the wary gaze of the priest. Though to be truthful, he had no idea why- after all, he'd done nothing wrong.  
  
"I understand, ofcourse, but. . .Ah! Here comes the very girl I've been waiting to see!" Kloppman turned at his brother's cry, to see Ruby, much more sober then usual, plodding grimly up the aisle. Briefly she met his elderly eyes with her young and tear stained ones, before turning her attention to the priest and pasteing on a painfully bright smile.  
  
"Ruby!" Frenchy turned and grinned delightedly, extending one muscular arm to his fiance with all the grace and machoism of a regular prince charming. Politely, the girl excepted the gesture, though never looking him square in the face. "Glad ta see ya, my futah wife!"  
  
"I'm not ya wife yet, Frenchy." She spoke in a voice void of anger, infact, void of any emotion. Frenchy, who barely had time to notice such small changes in people while concentrating on himself, remained oblivious.  
  
"Ah, give it time, ey love?"  
  
Having heard enough of the conversation to want it stopped, Kloppman threw his arms wide as he approached the three, speaking in a voice as seemingly oblivious as Frenchy. "Ah, Ruby, so nice to see you again. . .it's been so long! You've, uh, come to confess to my brother, no doubt."  
  
Frenchy smiled politely, slightly thrown by the intrusion, but decided not to pay it too much thought. "I'm soah she has, Sir. Gonna tell im how much ya love me, ey?" He flashed a pompous but brilliant grin.  
  
"Well, dat would be tellin, wouldn't it?" Ruby offered, turning her gaze to Kloppman and the priest. "Is dis a bad time?"  
  
"No, Mr. Beaumont was just leaving, weren't you, my boy?" The priest offered hastily, to Frenchy's slight bemusement.  
  
"Uh, yeah, sure I was. Hey, who'm I ta distoib holiness, ey?" With a deep bow, that left Frenchy unaware of Kloppman's rolling eyes, the strapping newsie left with a wave, humming 'here comes the bride' as he went.  
  
"Smug little punk, isn't he?" The preacher snorted, before retreating to his office to give the remaining two their privacy.  
  
Kloppman threw himself wearily into a near by pew, sighing with exasperation. This was just too much. "Ruby, don't pay him any attention. We'll think of somethi- " The old man trailed off at the sight of the glittering street knife, glaring strangely and visciously from Ruby's small, pale fist. Why the hell did she have a knife? "Er, why the hell do you have a knife?"  
  
"You gotta help me, Mr. Kloppman." Ruby shuddered at the sound of her voice, as hopeless and deadened as the scraping of dried leaves over cobblestones. "I aint askin' you, I'm tellin youse. If you can't find a way ta make dis wedding go away. . ." She glanced tearfully at the awkward blade. "Den I will."  
  
Kloppman could have screamed from shear frustration. As it was, he clenched his teeth to restrain himself. "I've had it up to here with the killing! First Race, then you. . . have you both gone mad?!" As she shrank back in fear, he quickly realized that the stradegy he'd used with Racetrack might not be a wise course of action. Kloppman hastily changed his tune. "Look, Ruby, this isn't the way out. I'm sure if we just think calmly, withOUT the weapon, then we can come up with. . ."  
  
His tired eyes lit suddenly with the spark of a hastily laid plan. It was crazy, sure, but it just might work - "If your willing to stab yourself just to avoid this wedding, then I, I think you might just go for this."  
  
Reluctantly, Ruby lowered her knife and whiped a hand across the tears that clung to her cheeks. "Ok, I'm listenin'."  
  
"Right then, this is what we'll do." The words tumbled from his mouth as soon as he'd thought of them. "You'll go back to Brooklyn and tell your friend Spot that you've changed your mind. You've thought about it, and you've decided Frenchy isn't so bad of a guy."  
  
"This plan seems very counta productive ta me."  
  
"Well it gets better. After you've accepted the marriage, find a place where you can be alone - a bedroom, a bathroom, a broom closet for all I care. Then. . ." he glanced around the empty church as furtively as his creaking old joints would allow. "You'll take a drug." Kloppman lowered his voice to a dry whisper as Ruby leaned in, intrigued. "A drug I've heard about from the news boys at the lodging house. One of them knows a girl, a girl who sells this mixture , and I can have it to you by tonight."  
  
"What. . .what does it do?"  
  
"Well, it kills you." He held up his calloused palms, cutting of Ruby's protests. " Except it doesn't really kill you, it just makes it seem that way. One of my newsies took it once to escape a nasty debt collector. . . ofcourse I would've stopped it had I known, but well, in this case. . ." His eyes flitted back and forth from Ruby's eager young face to the abandonned knife. "Desperate times, you know?"  
  
Ruby nodded agreeably, though this plan was starting to make her head throb. "Then what?"  
  
"Well, after that it will be easy!" Kloppman leaned back against the velvet cusions, a confident, Frenchy-like smile adorning his wrinkled features. "After the funeral, you'll wake up, and we'll send you off to Queens, where you can stay with Racetrack and his pals. It's a good plan!" Reassuringly, he patted Ruby's hand as she cringed fearfully.  
  
"Trust me, it can't fail."  
  
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Well with that chapter, I have an announcement. I've decided to discontinue this story, and all my others, in favor of the Harry Potter craze. So long!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
YEAH RIGHT! Hee hee, like I'd abandonned you guys. *shakes head amusedly* so gullible. *runs off to avoid race!muse's flying fists of terror* REVIEW! 


	17. Act 17

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
Rumor- No no, I'm not grossed out at all! I understand that the pole comes with the territory *nods wisely* and hey, if it inspires people, who am I to judge? What ever rocks their socks, ya know? Oh I wouldn't want to ignore you, tangents are FUN! Thanks so much, yes I get your meaning, I'm glad it's twisty. I mean. . .well you know. Twists are everybody's friend! Keep on reading, I value your opinions SO much! And I'll try to make it EXTRA twisty for ya!  
  
Misprint- a cow? He he, did you actually call me a cow? Oh my sweet crackers, I didn't mean to burn bridges! Honestly! Anywhoo, it wasn't me, it was the evil Baron, back from the dead and out for revenge. See, he parachuted into my den, lured me away rom the computer with a little Racetrack on a fishing pole, and seized control! That's how it happened! Don't be mad! He thankyou very much *Starts to bow, then realizes it MIGHT not be a great idea to turn her back on Misprint just yet.* and yes, Frenchy is a bastard. He's an embastard!  
  
Deejay- No nono nonono, never fear, Crunch is STILL here! Oh, I wouldn't dream of leaving, this is just too fun! Right up until the end that is, and well, we'll have ta see. Yes, that time is approaching, and you never know, you might just go "Oh" yet!  
  
Shortie- OOH, here yer part! Didja catch it? Well, don't worry, you'll be back. Oh, Blinks there? Well, I'm VERY happy for you, but to tell you the truth I'd wanted better for him then hell. . .WHAT AM I SAYING? There is no place better! Give him a big hiya from me! Hehe, well thankyou muchly! *Scatters rose pettals into the croud of her fellow minions and assorted demon like creatures* Yes, Frenchy IS stuck on himself, though to tell the truth I've always had a soft spot for the guy, he can't catch a break. HAH! I said SPOT! Yes, I know, the drug part was unrealistic, but I was feeling very lazy and starved for inspiration, I think my new found Blinks!muse was on the fritz. (Thanks much by the way, and I WILL review your new chappie, one of these days. . .) I promise! NONONO I wasn't serious, boy that one got me in a lot of trouble. Race made me do it. ;D  
  
*Dreamer Conlon- Oh, YAY! I'm glad SOMEONE likes it! He he, thanks so much, so ok, I'll keep on going. Voila!  
  
*Doll Face- Yes, Kloppman, these things never go as planned. Oh, the joke? *chuckles sheepishly* well, it seemed funny at the time, but then, don't they always? Btw, In regards to another review you left me, NO DON:T YOU DARE DISCONTINUE THAT STORY! I love it, and I've been waiting for more Doll Facey goodness, and I am not the only one who reads! I know this *wink nudge wink* so please keep a-going! Please/ fah me?  
  
*Morning Dew- Oh no, I would never abandon youse! *pats reasuringly, which turns to the heimlich manuver when Morning Dew chokes on laughter* Any whoo, thanks so much for reviewing so faithfully! I luffle you muchly!  
  
*Falco- WELL. . .yes, it is. I know, I'm going to hurt me too if they die. *whimpers in blind panic* Here ya go old friend, keep on readin'! You may find some, un, twists are acoming.  
  
*Sparks Donnen- SORRY! *simultaneously smiles apologetically and hides from Fists O' Terror* Let's just say it wasn't ME, it was my evil Baron!muse, who locked me in the broom closet and seized control of my computer and my lunch bag. And look! Here's more!  
  
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"We's all so glad you changed ya mind, Ruby. It'll be a helluva lot easier on all of us now. . . red or blue?"  
  
"Mm?" Ruby glanced upwards, thoughts of her possibly impending doom interrupted once more by Nanny's incesant chatter. Unaware of the plot she was delaying, Nanny stood posed infront of a beer-splashed and speckled mirror, holding the two swanky dresses she'd been able to procure infront of her figure, and grimacing as her ample self spilled from around the narrow sides. "Oh, blue, I guess. Blue would be fine." Distracted, she settled back down on the groaning old cot once again, her fingers straying eagerly towards the smuggled vial hidden away in her jumper pocket.  
  
"Dis'll be good fah youse, Ruby. Yoah wedding is da start of a whole new life. An' look at you, Miss hoity toity, you get ta spend da night in ya own room!" As an act of celebration, whether it was because Ruby was getting married, or because Ruby was leaving, nobody could say, the Lodging House Keeper had relinquished one of the beds in the vacant sick room for the girl's last night as a bachlorette. While the other girls steamed with jealousy, Ruby was just glad for the private suite. Sure, It would've been possible to chug down a vial of deadly poison with a room full of witnesses, but a bit melodramatic, in her opinion. And she had enough to worry about with out picturing the exasperated sighs upon her death bed.  
  
"Yeah, it's great Nanny. Listen," she feigned a yawn as best she could, "I'm kinda tired, maybe we could talk some udder time?"  
  
"Sure, kid, I'm goin." Nanny pursed her lips to avoid a patronizing smile. "You made da right choice, Ruby."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"You know, I always knew dat Racetrack was no good. . ."  
  
"Ok, Nan."  
  
"I mean, soah, he was a sweet talker, an he had a nice body. . ."  
  
"Yes, Nan."  
  
"An he had a NICE butt. . ."  
  
"THANKS, Nan." The girl nodded, glad to be of comfort, and padded out of the room as softly as her substantial frame could manage, leaving Ruby to her worries once again.  
  
Of course, it was likely everything would go down as planned. She'd drink the toxin, fake her death, sleep through her funeral, and Racetrack, tipped of by one of his close friends on an errand from Mr. Kloppman, would swoop down and wisk her away to Queens, where they could live happily ever after. 'But what if. . .' a small voice nagged at her, running incesantly through the back of her mind and staining her hopes. What if the poison ended up killing her? She didn't have to be enormously street-savvy to doubt the credability of a drug peddler named Shortie, in whose hands she was placing her life. What if this was all some elaborate plot by Father Kloppman to murder her for her sinful marriage to Race? What if the church exploded while she lay inside in her coffin?  
  
But no, she was being silly. Things WOULD go as planned.  
  
They had to.  
  
"Well, Here's to ya Race. Be seein' you soon." With a hastily whispered toast, she fumbled for the smooth emerald vial, running her fingers over it's glassy surface before lifting it to her lips, and after a final deep breath, finishing it in one gulp.  
  
Well, this wasn't so ba-  
  
Suddenly, the pain struck her like a blast of fire, burning her throat and scorching it's way towards her stomach. God, it hurt- she couldn't breath- her lungs were ready to explode! Panicked, she curled into the tightest bawl she could manage, clawing desperately at her chest, heaving dangerously with each erratic heart beat, the pain now seizing her like a full on inferno . . .  
  
And as suddenly as it had started, it was over, leaving the girl huddled on the worm eaten mattress, pale and still as death.  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"Dum dum da dum, dum dum da dum!" Nanny chirped the wedding march as she skipped heavily down the halls of the Lodging House, swept away in the hustle of pre-marriage activity.  
  
So a wedding of her own wasn't likely, so what? So it was fairly probable that she would never find a husband like Frenchy. There were worse things a girl could do then stay single. For now, she was content to live out her dreams through the eyes of the pretty young girl asleep in the sick bay.  
  
"Hey, Ruby, rise and shine, goil! It's ya wedding day!" She beamed cheerfully, her mouth so wide it threatened to split her face in two, as she paused in the doorway of the still silent chamber. "Ruby, come on!" The girl in question lay prostrate on the tattered bed, eyes screwed tight and arms clasped around her stomach. 'Poor girl must be nervous,' Nanny mused, refastening the smile on her lips as she strode gaily towards the mattress.  
  
"Ruby, it's time to get up!" On closer inspection, the child wasn't moving much at all, not even to draw breath. In fact, she WASN'T breathing, Nan realized with a start.  
  
"Ruby!"  
  
Making the final cautious steps towards the bed, the plump girl leaned over her young friend and extended a trembling hand to her ashen wrist, the smile long faded, her voice a strangled whisper.  
  
"Ruby?"  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Nanny would remember almost nothing about the funeral in the days to come; she was too stricken with grief and remorse. She wouldn't remember Father Kloppman's kind words of comfort. She wouldn't remember the sight of the Brooklyn leader, broken and sobbing over the coffin of the young girl he'd loved above anyone else in this world. But then, that was a sight everyone present hoped to forget. And she certaintly wouldn't remember the curly haired young boy, his normally oatmeal complexion bleached as gray as ashes, tears leaving glistening trackmarks down his round cheeks, who had run from the church in panic, his feet pounding the cobblestones as he sped towards Queens.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Well, folks, it's almost that time, and I want to make this ending REALLY spectacular, even if it is really sad. I think all you guys deserve that. So please, critisism is appreciated! REVIEWWWWWWWWWW!  
  
P.S. Does anyone know Mush's official last name? 


	18. Act 18

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
*Misprint- Oh, its very understandable me dear, run on review are quite time consuming, I know! Any misprint review is more then welcome! Yes, Race on a fishing pole, and you know what the sad part is? I never even caught up with him. It was like one of those carrot on a stick deals-don't they have those for horses? ANY WHOO. ..oh, you really recite my unworthy little rip off? You have no idea how much that really means to me, and on second thought, it's actually kind of pitiful what that means to me. Ah well. Ok, jeesh, remind me never to get on YOUR bad side. And btw, on a 'you think you know' related topic- vile wench? BA HA HA HA!!! More will be said on this later.  
  
*Morning Dew- Oh, morning dew my dear, you are not mistaken. The chapters get shorter and shorter as I get lazier and lazier, you are quite right, and thanks for pointing it out! Don't worry, I'll do better for the end, I just have a nasty habit of rushing TOWARDS the end. I was hoping no one would notice. . . *grins sheepishly* ;D Hopefully I did better for you this time! *waves goodbye and pats a passing race!muse on the butt*  
  
*Shortie - Oh, thank you Shortie! Se, I wrote this crappy one chappy which would not have been possible with out Mushie's real name, so yay for you! Your like the Boy Who Saved Christmas. . .except you're a girl and you didn't save Christmas. Well, maybe you did, but that's another story for another time. Yup, your part, and here you are again! Ooh, such a thrill. Oh, no, don't be sorry, at least you reviewed! But rest assured, I read the latest chapter and it was WONDERFUL! More will be said in a later, unlazier time. WOAH, I didn't even think about that! Wouldn't it be funny if someone did a Matrix/ Newsies parody? No? ok then. . .yes, Nanny is a bit inconsistant in her affections.oh yes, you vile pill-pusher, you, and that's not all you did! Oh, shortie, I just realized I kind of made everything your fault! Heh, heh, oops. Yes, poor nanny. Time machine, eh? Well. . .your suggestion is noted. . .I'll see what I can do for you ;D  
  
*Doll Face- Yes, the end AND the British are coming! Where is that line from anyways? Was it Paul revere? Or am I being a cultural flying ignoramus? I can never tell, so a big hoo yah to my part British faithful reviewer of the millennium award winner! Ah, yes, that was sad, and unfortunately there won't be a happy chappy for some time. *sigh* nono, dear, rambling reviews are never pointless, so thanks a bunch! YEAH! I GET MORE DOLL FACE STORY! I knew you wouldn't let me down, ol chum! ;D  
  
*Rumor- heehee, preferential treatment, that's how you keep the reviewers coming back! MUA HA HA. . . *chokes on evil laughter* ahem. Beer splattered.. well, sure! I figure you always read about the guys chuggin' em down, why cant the girls have their wild nights as well? That's women's lib, right there! Hehe, yeah, well I don't think they're real wedding dresses, just average dresses Nanny managed to rustle up. . .I probably should have said that, huh? He, Nanny the lewd. Actually, shocking as it is, I've never seen the Danes version! I must, I'm so culturally deprived. Yoda, eh? Well, now that I think about it. . .*thinks about it and shudders* Oh yes, spelling, must try to control the fingers from now on. . . Well, I'll make you a deal, I'll keep the twist coming and you keep the helpful suggestions coming, okies? ;D PEACE!  
  
*SparksdaNewsie- A, Sparks, your reviews are both an honor and an enigma. I had to read that one 5 times before I fully understood it, and I laughed harder each time. *glances despairingly towards a still snogging Skittery and snitch muse rolling around on her computer desk* Damn, and I was hoping to have skitts for myself. Ah, c'est la vie!  
  
*Omniscient- heh heh, yes, I'll miss that butt of his. . .*realizes what she just said and sobs into a disgruntled Race!muse's shoulder* Nono, don't fret, Ruby lives on. . .as of this moment. Thanks for the pre-finish review! (pre-finish???)  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Racetrack?" the boy looked up from his post on the rooftop of the Brooklyn Girl's Lodging House, shivering despite the glaring heat of the beaming midday sun, to see his bride standing before him.  
  
"Ruby?" He would have cried, if he hadn't been laughing from the sheer ecstasy of seeing her. Her smooth young lips curled into a warm, welcoming smile, and her cheeks flushed with joy.  
  
"Hey, Bummah, where ya been all me life?"  
  
Tears of pure joy lodged in his throat as he stumbled to his feet, reluctant to touch the girl for fear she would vanish into thin air. "I. . . I t'ought you was gone! I t'ought you wasn't ever comin' back!"  
  
Ruby laughed, coincidentally, much more elegantly then her usual laugh, with a sound like the tinkling of wind chimes. "Aw, Race, I couldn't leave youse." In one quick movement she pressed her lips against his, in an embrace more forceful then her usual kisses. Race didn't mind at all. Wiping away the tears now streaming freely down his cheeks with the flat of one thumb, she pulled back cautiously and gazed into his eyes. "You're my stars."  
  
He chuckled and sniffled at the same time. "Ruby, I lo- "  
  
RAP. RAP. RAP.  
  
Racetrack jolted awake, gazing around the strange room, disoriented and fearful, until he remembered where he was. He was in Queens, in the filthy basement of a friendly newsie, an ally of Jack's. Ruby was in Brooklyn, where she belonged, instead of crouching in this dank hole with him, where she was wanted. And someone was knocking incessantly on the window of his hideout.  
  
"Hold ya horses, I'm comin'." He grumbled, too tired to wonder who might be calling on him, and rubbed his eyes to clear away the last strands of sleep, starting as he realized his cheeks were moist under the back of his hand. Odd, he didn't usually cry in his sleep. Ah, but then he didn't usually dream about Ruby. Shrugging it off, Race heaved himself from the mattress, shucked off the dingy and moth-bitten sheets, and staggered towards the windowpane, still squinting against the harsh daylight.  
  
"Racetrack!" He started at his name, then grinned when he saw the familiar face bobbing behind the glass.  
  
"Mush! I been waitin' fah youse!" Hefting open the window with all the strength he could muster this early in the morning, he ushered his friend inside, too overjoyed to notice the ominous look on Mush's face as he staggered upright, clutching his cap between two bloodless fists. "You dunno how good it is ta see you, bruddah. What did Kloppman say? How's Ruby? How is Jack and da boys doin'? How's Ruby?"  
  
Mush frowned sympathetically, and the eager smile slowly faded from Race's haggard features. "Race. . .I just found out, an' I t'ought you should know. . ." He sucked in a deep breath before continuing. "She's dead, Race. Ruby's dead. I'm- I'm so sorry, pal- "  
  
"No. . . no way." The strangled whisper that ripped from his friend's throat was enough to break Mush's heart. Then, to the newsie's surprise, a strange chuckle rang through the room, in a voice that he could hardly have pegged for Race's. "Heh, it's a joke, right? Well, it aint real funny, Mush. You should proll'y stick to ya day job."  
  
"It's true, Race. I saw da funeral, at Father Kloppman's choich. I saw 'er coffin." He ploughed onwards as Race swayed in place, reeling as if slapped across the cheek. "I'm sorry I had ta be da one ta tell you. I'm sorry. . ."  
  
"Are you serious?" Race stared at his friend, his mind spinning, his body numb. It felt as if time had stopped, and so had his heart. He was too stunned to ask how, or why, or when; too stunned to cry. All he could feel was the anger bubbling inside him, as he turned his face to the ceiling, hoping that God, or whoever was making his life hell, was listening at that precise moment. "Then FUCK YOU! FUCK IT ALL!"  
  
Gasping for breath as he collapsed to his knees before a terrified Mush, he knew exactly what he had to do. It was the only way. . .  
  
Racetrack swallowed the tears swelling in his throat, and with astounding tranquility, glanced upwards into Mush's worry-lined face. "Fine. I'm fine. I'm . . . I'm gonna go ta Brooklyn. He climbed to his feet, willing himself to stay strong. But it was no use. "Are you sure, Mush? Are you really sure? Didn't Kloppman say anythin'?" He pleaded in a quivering voice.  
  
"No, Race."  
  
The heart-broken boy nodded resignedly, wiping a palm across his quickly drying eyes. "It don't matter. I'll be seein' her soon anyways." With a last shuddering breath, he stiffened his narrow shoulders and strode from the room, with Mush tagging behind him.  
  
"Race! Aww, please don't do anythin' stupid! Racetrack?"  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"Dis is where your goil works, aint it?" Racetrack hunched his shoulders against the icy breeze whispering down his neck, peering into the alleyway behind Tibby's as Mush shifted uncomfortably in the background.  
  
"Yeah, but. . .I don't get you, Race."  
  
"Don' worry about it." The newsie's voice lacked its usual vibrancy, as did Racetrack. "Just do me a favah an' scout out da choich, ok?"  
  
"Scout it out?"  
  
"Yeah, make soah no one's dere right now. I got a few t'ings ta take care of." Mush shook his head, quite certain that no good could possibly come of this, but unsure of how to dissuade Race with out sending him into another nervous breakdown.  
  
"Racetrack, I don't think. . ."  
  
"I won't be long." Mush shrugged resignedly, squinting as his eyes struggled to pierce the unlit gloom of the alleyway that swallowed Race's disappearing figure.  
  
From her perch on the lid of a dumpster, Shortie could see the undersized young man shuffling down her "block" from a long way off, her wary green eyes being as used to the darkness as those of any other creature of the night. Puffing contentedly on a cigarette, she eyed him suspiciously, sizing up the possible reasons for a boy like himself to be skulking in an alleyway like this, with the likes of her.  
  
"Hey dere, Romeo, what brings you ta my humble home?"  
  
He paused in his tracks, confused, and beginning to regret turning Mush away. But this was one thing he could do right, all by himself. This would set things right.  
  
"Romeo? Uh, I dunno who dat is, but my name's. . ."  
  
"I know ya name aint Romeo, silly, dat's just a figuah of speech. . ." she sighed at the look of utter confusion on his face, deciding that this boy clearly wasn't the brightest candle on the birthday cake, and the direct approach would be best. "So whadya want with me?"  
  
"I, I came lookin' fah- are you Shortie? Mush's Shortie?"  
  
"Yup, I am she, da one and only." Grinning delightedly at his confusion, she jumped from her platform, her shoes meeting the pavement in from of him with a dull THUNK. Race's doubts were understandable, it would be hard for anyone to peg this petite girl for the infamous dealer of everything toxic and hallucination inducing that the body could imagine. With bouncing tawny hair tucked under a coal black cabbie hat, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose, and a cheery grin, she hardly seemed to suit her profession. However, if the rumors were true, then she was the only one who could help him.  
  
"I, um, I need a drug."  
  
"A drug?" she shrugged happily. "Well, you came to da right place. What kind of a drug can I do youse for?"  
  
He swallowed a nervous breath, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Actually, I need some kind a poison."  
  
"Poison? What kind a poison?"  
  
"Da kind dat makes you dead, what da you t'ink?"  
  
Her eager-to-please smile faded momentarily as she searched the young boy's desperate, brownie eyes. "Well, dat wouldn't be so hard produce. It's just. . . kinda weird."  
  
"What's dat?" anxious to be gone, he shoved a trembling hand through his unkempt raven locks.  
  
"I seem ta be havin' a bit of a run on poisons, and so soon aftah Christmas."  
  
He shrugged distractedly, restless to return to his mission before someone, somehow, tried to stop him. Though, really, who would want to stop him? There was no one left. "Tis da season, I guess. Will ya help me or not?"  
  
Reluctantly, she fished from the pocket of her slacks and turned over an ominous looking cobalt bottle for a handful of coins, pressing them to her chest as she glanced remorsefully into his weary eyes. "Look, I dunno youse, and I can't afford ta turn you down, but if you ask me, dis is a mistake."  
  
"Well, I aint askin' you." With a slight nod of his head, Racetrack grabbed at the vial like a lifeline, hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind, and jogged into the night, intent on his next stop; his final stop.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
DUN DUN DUN! Stay tuned till next week for the hopefully heart wrenching next-to-last chapter of STAR CROSSED LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEERS! Reviews are giddily appreciated. 


	19. Act 19

Star Crossed Lovers- by Crunch  
  
Oh, jeeze, this chapter is too long already, so shout outs are coming in the next update. PHEWW!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Where in the world was Mush? Kloppman wondered anxiously, pacing back and forth inside the entrance of the lodging house. The boy always signed in at the end of his selling day, without fail, as he was a great fan of a good nights sleep. Usually, you could set you're pocket watch by Mush's bed time. So the fact that he had yet to check in, this late in the evening, was highly unusual.  
  
The old man glanced at his watch fot the third time in the last minute, his anxieties growing with every tick of the second hand. Mush was the only one who knew Racetrack's location in Queens, and therefore his only hope of getting news of the plan to the fugitive boy. If there was noone to greet Ruby when she woke up, if Mush didn't arrive soon. . .  
  
Where in the world was Mush?  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
Gasping for breath, Mush struggled to keep up with his friend's pounding footfalls; for once Race's shorter legs didn't seem to hinder him, but speed him along all the faster.  
  
"Race, please jus' think about dis before you do anythin' stupider. . ."  
  
"I told you." Racetrack shook his head, his voice as dead as the brittle brown leaves thrown aside as the two boys crashed recklessly through them. "This is da only way ta make it better. It's gotta work."  
  
"You- you keep sayin' dat, Race. But things nevah do work out, not really. I don't t'ink it means what you t'ink it does."  
  
Ignoring his friend, the undersized Italian strode forwards all the faster, nervously fingering the vial buried in the vast tombs of his pockets as he walked. He was right about this, he knew he was. This would fix everything.  
  
As they plodded into the silent church yard, Mush, still figiting nervously, threw himself in his friends path, his taller and stockier form making a considerable barrier. "No, no way, I can't let ya do it."  
  
"Move outta me way, Mush."  
  
"I said no!" The newsie's coal black eyes glimmered with defiance. "Now I done everythin' you asked me to so far, Race. I got youse away from da fight before da bulls showed up, I hid ya in da church, I got ya to Queens safe 'n sound. An' I did all dat cos you're one o' da best pals I evah had. I got ya da drugs you wanted, and on second thought dat wasn't such a great idea, but I did it." Racetrack shifted impatiently under the onslaught. "But now you want me ta jus' walk away, knowin' you aint plannin' ta walk outta dat church alive, an' I can't do it, Race. I won't do it. . ." Mush reeled backwards, stunned into silence, as Racetrack's small but sturdy fist connected squarely with his jaw. The newsie wondered for a moment how a punch thrown by such a tiny boy could hurt so much, but only for a moment, because all of a sudden he pitched backwards, or rather, he dropped like a stone to the grassy floor of the churchyard.  
  
"Sorry." Racetrack muttered briefly before highstepping over Mush's limp form and striding towards the church entrance looming ahead of him, ominous in it's ivory grandeur.  
  
He'd barely gone three steps before a broken voice called out to him from the darkness. "Streetrat!"  
  
"Oh, for da love of. . ." He muttered beneath his breath, sick of all these interruptions, sick of everything. Edgily he turned on his heel, to find himself himself face to face with an unfamiliar figure, or rather, face to chest, because his opponent towered over him. "An' what do YOU want wid me?"  
  
The boy infront of him, who might have been very handsome, had he not been red-eyed and bent with grief, ignored him. "I know youse. I recognize you from da papes. Da one dey call Racetrack."  
  
Race through his arms in the air, unable to muster enough energy to care about this new obstacle. "Great, pal, you guessed it. I got t'ings ta do, so put an egg in ya shoe an' beat it."  
  
The sturdy young boy shook his tousled head and continued. "You was in da papes aftah you killed Baron."  
  
"Nah, youse mistaken."  
  
As he tried to disentangle himself, he found his path blocked by the increasingly angry looking young man. "Nope, I aint. I heard ya friend call you Racetrack. Dat was da name dey gave in da papes, da name of da boy who killed him." Race shifted impatiently, more annoyed at the delay then worried that his identity had been discovered, by whoever this was. In a short while, it wouldn't matter anyways.  
  
"Look, I dunno you, an' I aint got a problem wid you, so jus' lemme. . ."  
  
"Frenchy." The boy straightened out as best he could, peering at Race with loathing in his weary eyes. "Dat's my name, so now you know me. An if you t'ink I'm gonna walk away an' let you do God knows what ta da goil lyin' in dere, you're wrong."  
  
"What ARE you talkin about?" This was taking too damn long.  
  
"You t'ink I don't know why you're here? You heard dere was a Brooklynite in dat church, an' now you're gonna do somethin' just ta disrespect Spot Conlon, cause killin' his second in command wasn't enough fah youse. Don't you Manhatten scum have any respect?" Race stared unblinkingly into Frenchy's menacing face, lost for words.  
  
"Oh, boy, you dunno how wrong you've got it- " He broke of as Frenchy's fist drove itself into his stomach, knocking the wind from him and breaking God know's what with a sickening crunch. Racetrack tried to call a halt to the fight, but could barely talk for wheezing. Frenchy, on the other hand, was talking fine.  
  
"I don't suppose you t'ought anyone would be heah ta stop you. But jus' cause me goil Ruby's in a coffin don't mean I don't love her anymore. An if you t'ink I'm gonna let you disrespect her. . ." He slammed an elbow into Race's lip for emphasis, and the boy choked on the coppery tastes of blood swelling in his mouth. "You're dead wrong."  
  
Bent in half, the newsie looked upwards to see a fist looming inches from his face. Still wheezing, all Race had the strength to do was squeeze his eyes shut and pray for the best. But, to his shock, the blow never landed.  
  
"Race, go on!" At the sound of the all too familiar voice, he opened his eyes cautiously, to find Mush, with a fresh red bruise decorating his jawline, motioning for him to run as he clutched a gasping and flailing Frenchy around the neck. Nodding his thanks, Race staggered towards the doorway with an arm wrapped around his jarred and aching ribs, ignoring the sounds of pandemonium in the background.  
  
The halls of the church lay silent and dark, except for the pale glow of candle light shining from the alter up ahead. Still clutching at his stomach, Racetrack started down the aisles, after pausing briefly to remove his hat, a gesture he would hardly remember or understand later on. Fighting the tears beginning to burn at the backs of his eyes, the small boy hobbled forwards, loosing speed and resolve with every step. Past the empty pews and the ivory pillars he staggered, barely recognizing the whimper that ripped from his throat as his own voice. Any second now he would see it; the coffin, the body. . .  
  
Slowly he climbed the altar steps, his palms sweating and his eyes burning. And there it was. The wooden coffin. The open wooden coffin.  
  
"Ruby?" A strangled whisper reverberated off of the church walls, fading into the night. Framed by the pearly white pillows and iluminated in the soft glow of the candles, Ruby looked. . . beautiful. She looked small and young and healthy, infact, she hardly looked dead at all. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought she was sleeping.  
  
"Ruby. . ." Race sniffed back the tears and gathered his courage, leaning over the familiar body. "I miss you. Gawd, I miss you. But. . . but we'll be tagether soon, right?" swiping at the droplets now streaming freely down his flushed cheeks, hw wanted to kiss her. He wanted to so much it hurt, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, so instead, Racetrack fumbled for the bottle and raised it to his lips, blurry through the curtain of tears.  
  
" I Love you forever." And with that, he tilted his head back and drank deeply.  
  
Feeling his insides begin to stir painfull, Racetrack glanced on his bride one last time. The poison must be working already, he thought, as his sences swam. If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn he'd seen Ruby's pale hand twitch. There! There it was again! Now he knew his eyes were playing tricks on him, as he saw Ruby's eyes flutter open, and a smile color her blanched lips, and now she was sitting up! But it couldn't be real, he knew, as he heard a familiar voice cut through the murky silence closing in on him.  
  
"Racetrack!" He started, fighting for consciousness, fighting to stay behind, as the image of Ruby grasped at his hands, finding the empty vial of poison. . . "Race, what did you do?"  
  
He would have cried, if he could have. He was sure it was just a hallucination, as Ruby's face split into tears, and as she reached towards his belt slowly, far slower then normal speed. He watched through rapidly closing eyes, confused and frightened and numb, as this heartbroken image of Ruby smiled one last time, before plunging his gun, the same gun he'd used on Baron, deep into her stomach, and pulling the trigger. . .  
  
That's when the blackness descended, and Racetrack saw no more.  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
The Chief of police shook his head gravely, confering with his deputy as he gazed sadly at the growing crowds of street rats, drawn to the scene of the crime through word of mouth. In the distance, the dawn was breaking over the Manhatten skyline, it's rosy fingers reaching to the corners of the skies and casting a surreal glow on the crowds of mourners.  
  
"So, let me get this strait, Chief. The girl wasn't dead when they had a funeral for her?"  
  
"No. It's quite clear that she fatally shot herself only hours ago. And the boy. . ."  
  
"We found the bottle laying near by. It looks like poison alright," Daniels reported to the chief as he swiped a hand across his weary brow. "We've got witnesses that report he went into the church last night with the intention of killing himself. But the body. . ."  
  
"The kid probably staggered off into the night to die. Don't worry about the body. It'll turn up eventually, they usually do."  
  
The Deputy nodded and made his way towards the crime scene in the church, never acknowledging the two solemn young boys he brushed passed on his way.  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"Dat's two friends I lossed in da past day, Jacky-boy. Anudder's in da lodging house wid a busted throat. . . Lady's heart broken, and I'm tired of it." Spot lit a cigarette with trembling hands as he looked into the sad. face of his greatest enemy.  
  
"You aint da only one who lost good friends tanight, Spot. Foist Blink, and now dey say dat Race. . ." He swallowed back the hard clot growing in his throat, plopping wearily onto a nearby headstone. "I'm tired of it too, Spot. I'm tired of da fightin, tired of losin' friends, tired of hatin' me brudders in Brooklyn."  
  
"It should nevah have got dis far. We shouldn't a let it." The mighty leader of Brooklyn nodded and sat down besides his foe, for the first time in months.  
  
"Dis has got ta stop."  
  
"I know it." The smaller boy rose slowly, glancing sideways at Jack before spitting into his palm and offering it up. Jack took it gladly.  
  
"I'll see ya, Spot." Brooklyn nodded, the shadow of a smile on his face, before striding towards the church, ducking carefull past the swarming cops, and leaning over the blockade of ropes onto the still alter.  
  
"You. . .you have a good rest, ey, Ruby?" Spot swiped at the stinging tears threatening to spill with the back of a trembling hand, and as he turned to go, dropped the crumpled yellow carnation he'd pocketed from a sidewalk florist's stand onto the single, polished wooden coffin.  
  
*.*.*.*  
  
"Scuse me, Miss?" Skittery shifted back and forth in the solemn, white washed halls of the children's ward, cap clutched anxiously in his hands. Surrounded by the rows of emanciated, hollow eyed patients, the newsie, with his strong, rigid backed figure and full tanned cheeks flushed pink from the cold, felt sorely out of place. "I'm- I'm lookin' fah me friend. . ."  
  
"Ovah heah, Skitts." Skittery followed the sounds of the hushed rasping voice to a nearby bedside, where he smiled down at his pal sympathetically. The boy looked so small, and so young, in the folds of the emmense white cot, with skin paler than usual, half-lidded, shadowed eyes, blue tinged lips and a toung shaded gray from the charcoal he'd ingested. So very young. . .  
  
"How ya doin', brudder?" his friend sniffed humourlessly. What a stupid question. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he gave it another shot. "The funeral was real nice."  
  
The sickly boy turned his face away, wishing he had the strength to lift an arm and blot the tears coursing down his hollowed cheeks.  
  
"Ruby. . .she looked real nice too. She looked real pretty."  
  
"Course she did." He rasped, swollowing painfully.  
  
"Look, pal, I know you wish it happened differently. I know you wish you could've saved 'er. . ."  
  
"You dunno anythin', Skitts." The boy grunted feebly. "You nevah should've come. . ."  
  
"I wasn't gonna leave ya lying dere!" Skittery through out his arms in protests, blushing once more as a nurse cast a dissaproving glare in his direction. Edging closer to the bed, he lowered his voice. "You're me best friend. An' if you think I should be sorry fah helpin' you, I aint. I'm glad I did it. Cause youse just about all I got left." Embarrassed, he struggled for words in the awkward silence that followed, and for lack of a better option, chose to ignore the turn in conversation. "So anyhow, it was a good soivice. I know, I aint been to a whole lot of em," he chuckled nervously. "but dis was da best. Der was even a real band, wid dose instr'ments. . .da ones dat look like a bunch a tubes in a sack?"  
  
"Bag pipes."  
  
"Right, bag pipes. Dey played a real pretty song on da bag pipes, I t'ink it was amazin' grace, or somethin' like dat, and dere wasn't noone who wasn't cryin'. . ."  
  
"Skitts?"  
  
"Yeah?" tentatively he stepped closer, bending his sinewy frame awkwardly to better hear his friend's whisper. "What did you wanna say?"  
  
"Just. . . what day is it?"  
  
"Uh. . ." Skittery squinted towards the ceiling as he mentaly counted off the days. "January third, I t'ink."  
  
"Den it's only been two days?"  
  
"Since what?"  
  
"Since January foist, ya bum." A bit of his old self again, he gave a dry hiss of breath; almost a laugh- but not quite. "Since New Yeahs."  
  
"Yeah, dat sounds about right."  
  
The sick boy leaned his head back against the rigid pillow, thinking. "Dat means we only had two days."  
  
"But dey was great days, right?"  
  
Racetrack smiled slightly, gazing whistfully into space, beyond the sterile hospital, beyond Manhatten and Brooklyn, beyond this life. And damned if he couldn't see Ruby there waiting for him. "Sure dey were. I'll neva forget 'em."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
*Crickets chirp. An audience member coughs.* Well, I said twists, didn't I? So, c'est la fin, I thank you for sticking it out this long, and I hope you've had fun, because I sure have! Love y'all! *takes a final bow as the curtain closes with a THWUMP! Promptly whapping Crunch in the face.* Oh yes, shout outs coming up, and please review and tell me if it didn't make sence, cause I'll try to do something about that.  
  
: D 


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